George Weasley and the Stone of Resurrection
by readysetsmile
Summary: DH Spoilers! Venturing into an unknown realm of family history and magic, George knows what's at stake: the business, family, and even maybe a new love. Lead by mysterious dreams, George knows that what he seeks to bring back is worth the risk...
1. The Nightmare

George Weasley and the Stone of Resurrection

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, items, plot, or anything else from the wonderful world of Harry Potter. They all belong to the brilliant J.K. Rowling.

((I know it's early to be posting fan fics up here considering Deathly Hallows came out only yesterday, but I finished and am already immersed in my second read-through. I just _had_ to get this idea up here before anyone else thought of it. I'm going to post this first chapter and it might be a bit until I get to write/post the others, but I had to get this up here, but hopefully you'll read them when I do.

So, I truly hope you loved Deathly Hallows just as much as I did, and hopefully you finished it already and if you haven't DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT read this until you have finished!))

Full Summary: In the wake of Fred's death, in the wake of Voldemort's defeat, George Weasley is torn. Along with the happiness and sorrow of the times, the reconstruction of the world after such a terrible war is not all that holds George's thoughts. With terrible nightmares, peculiar dreams, and intriguing rumors, George finds himself being led by a greater aspiration. Venturing into an unknown realm of family and magical history, George knows what is at stake: the business, his family, and even possibly a new love. George knows that what he seeks is nearly impossible, nearly insane, but he is empowered by love and loss greater than logic. George seeks to bring back the one thing he supposedly can't: the second piece of himself, his twin.

**Chapter One**

Nightmare

_George couldn't breathe. He couldn't talk, couldn't move. He couldn't even discern as to whether his own heart was still beating or not. George could only stare at the body lying below him._

_His entire family had surrounded it. But he didn't notice them, couldn't notice them. He couldn't notice his mother breaking down, sobbing and crying out with a hurt passion he had never witnessed before. He couldn't see his father, hands trembling, like pale icicles about to be shaken down from their hold, trying to console her. He couldn't notice Ginny fighting the tears off and losing the battle, nor could he witness Percy clenching onto his wand with both hands so tightly that it was hard to tell which would happen first, the wand snapping or his knuckle bones piercing through his taut skin._

_George could only stare at the body lying below him._

_The body really couldn't breathe, talk, or move. The body no longer held a heartbeat, no longer kept a pulse. The body was just that- a body._

_Perhaps it was that he was looking down at his own face, his own mirrored reflection that gave him the impression that he was dead, too._

_Dead._

_Dead._

_Dead._

_It couldn't be real, could it? Could… could it?_

_Couldn't…_

_Just a body…_

_No matter how long George stared, he knew that the face, the body below him would never breathe, talk, or move again. It would never laugh, joke, tease, invent, smile, comfort, live ever again. It was dead. It was silenced and still. A part of George was dead, and that's how he knew that Fred was._

_Dead._

_Dead._

_A sickness gripped his stomach, threatening to explode if he thought that horrible word any more._

_Fred… Fred, Fred, FRED!_

_A desperate sadness, an emptiness filled George's very core. Every vein in his body was aching, every cell, every particle that proved he was alive while his brother- his twin - lay in death hurt like a small, painful pinch._

_It had to be a dream…_

_It had to be a nightmare…_

_Fred couldn't be gone. Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't! Now there was an anger, a monster of anger being fed by the sadness. _

_Fred wasn't. He couldn't be. He was. He isn't. He is. _

_Nightmare, nightmare, nightmare._

_WAKE UP!_

_My twin is gone._

_COME BACK!_

_Revenge. Yes, yes, yes. He would get revenge. He would kill every single one of them! He would torture them! Make them pay! How dare they! How dare they steal him, take him away!_

_What was the point? _

_His brain, his heart, his anger, his sadness- it was all contradicting itself. Nothing made sense but the choking emptiness, the picture that strangled his mind, the sight of his brother laying there. The truth._

_There was no point to revenge! It was already too late. Too late… His whole body seemed to lurch. The room around him, the room he could not notice, was spinning as he could only continue to stare._

_It made no sense…_

_Dead._

_Fred…_

_Just a body…_

_Couldn't…_

_He was looking into a mirror. His reflection was dead._


	2. A Rebuilding World

((Thank you very much for the reviews and etc.- that's all so greatly appreciated! Anyway, this chapter is more to give an idea as to what's going on in the wizarding world after Voldemort's defeat. But the good stuff with the Resurrection Stone and all is soon to come (little does poor George know now), so don't worry!))

**Chapter Two**

A Repairing World

Six months later, George Weasley woke up in bed, drenched in sweat and panting as though he had just run the entire length of Diagon Alley twelve times. The nightmare, yet again. Of course, it was less of a nightmare and more of a terrible, horrible memory, but as it haunted his sleep regularly, George knew not what else to call it.

He glanced at the clock on the left hand wall. It was nearly half past 9 in the morning. George let out a sigh, and fought not to look at the other clock on the right-hand-side.

It was a model based off of Mrs. Weasley's own invention, only this one had solely _two_ faces in place of hands, whereas the clock at the Burrow had nine- possibly now eight, though George wouldn't know. Yes, their- _his_- clock had only two faces, which were almost identical. The only difference between the two faces was that one was not-all-too-conveniently missing an ear. All along the side, instead of numbers for time, were words. 'Here', 'At the Shop', 'Pulling a Prank', 'On a Date', and 'Running Late' were among some of them.

The one with both ears still in tact had been stuck at 'Dead' for quite some time, now.

They had put that word on there as a joke, as if to mean 'In Trouble', but the clock had taken it literally, George sickeningly supposed. He had not been able to stomach taking the whole, stupid clock down, just yet, and both dreaded and looked forward to the time when he would.

Although George refused to look at _that_ clock, as he refused to do nearly every morning, he realized, with thanks to the actual time-telling clock, that his own face must be pointing at 'Running Late'. This was surprising; George hadn't overslept in a long, long time, now. Usually the nightmare, which came nearly every night, kept him awake through most hours of the dark, early morning.

Even though he was supposedly late, George Weasley didn't seem to care very much. He had stopped worrying about such things a while ago. It didn't seem to make a difference whether he cared or not. A hollow feeling of ignorance had come, and George had long since stifled the feeling that he needed to do something productive. It was much better to numb it all, to numb the small worries and the big worry that his whole life was a waste of time. Numbness was good.

Groggily, George stumbled out of his bed, and with a flick of his wand opened the shutters, allowing a vast amount of light to pour through the room. Snow was blanketing the street, but wizards and witches were already beginning to fill it, eager for a day of shopping at the wonderful Diagon Alley. He quickly clamored into his Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes work robes.

It had been tough to keep the business going. Several products had required work from both of the twins to be produced, so George was stuck simply having to place duplication charms on several of them rather than magic them from scratch, as he would have if… well… if…

Well. The products worked just as well, even if they were merely duplicated. Others in the joke business still were having trouble working out how most of them were even created, which was a relief since Zonko's already was putting out a line of 'Skipping Sickcandies' (not nearly as effective as the ones the Skiving Snackboxes twins had designed), and Gambol and Japes was supposedly working on a Copyrighted Nightmare Jinx (opposite of the Patented Daydream Charm), but apparently that was considered a little too dark to properly market nowadays.

Running a joke shop was tough business when you were all alone. It pained George nearly every day when he forced himself to smile and demonstrate a Headless Hat with no one to explain it in the meantime. It pained him to be in a place filled with the stuff they had imagined together. In fact, George hadn't had a good new idea for a product since… well, since…

But somehow, George knew that he couldn't stop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. One part of him said that it was because Fred wouldn't want him to quit (which was probably true), but another part knew the real reason, which was that George had no idea what else he could do. He had only gotten 3 OWLs, had no desire to join the New Ministry, no desire to do anything else… And yet he had lost almost all desire to be in a place that reminded him of so strongly of his twin. If anything, at the very least, keeping the business going provided some sort of near-constant distraction for George, ensuring that he would not, in fact, become some sort of brooding, depressed slob.

Besides, the world seemed all-too-eager for some happiness. With the defeat of You-Know-Who, everyone seemed to be rejoicing. Why deny the world the little more happiness it got from simple tricks and jokes?

Yes, it was tough to run a business all alone… But Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was not the only business struggling in the wake of Harry Potter's triumph. Many had been lost in the war…

Florean Fortescue never did return back to his Ice Cream Parlour. Someone new had bought it, and it was now under some other name, not gaining near as many fans as Florean's Parlour had. Quite a few of the cafes and businesses of Diagon Alley had lost quite a few workers, as well.

Despite that, however, customers seemed eager to be joyously spending their time out and about, treasuring moments with loved ones and survivors. The New Ministry was finally well on its way to having full order and peace restored throughout the country. With a Minister like Kingsley Shacklebolt, and with high-ups like Dedalus Diggle, Percy, Hestia Jones, and even Arthur, the New Ministry was likely to be nothing like the dark, weak, prejudiced one from before.

The world was slowly recovering. Most of the Weasley family had accepted Fred's passing. Percy remained full of guilt, and Molly could be caught with watering eyes every now and then, but George was certainly the one still taking it the hardest, and he knew it. Other deaths had distracted the others. That Tonks and Remus Lupin were gone was a heartbreak the members of the Order (which was no longer necessary what with the growing good of the wizarding world, and all) thought they would never have to endure since the death of Mad-Eye. Young Teddy Lupin was getting loads of love, attention, and pity from all, to say the least. All of the fallen heroes of the war were all given a memorial in the Ministry building. All of their names were there.

The survivors, though still hurting, could not help but celebrate after the defeat of the greatest source of evil the world had ever seen.

Ginny and Harry were almost as inseparable as Ron and Hermione, despite the fact that Ginny had returned to Hogwarts, which was now rightfully under the command of Minerva McGonagall, to finish her final year. As for the other three? Auror training must have seemed like nothing compared to their previous work, especially considering most Dark Wizards had either fallen or fled.

Fleur was now pregnant, and the whole Weasley family was eagerly awaiting their newest edition. Charlie had returned to Romania for the time being, and Bill was helping spread the order through to Gringotts. It was now nearing Christmastime, and a beautiful, white, snowy world seemed to reflect on the new peace, the new purity of times to come.

The world was repairing itself, slowly but consistently. George felt excluded from this.

He feared that he would never be able to be repaired, that the gape in his heart that had been present ever since that battle would remain wounded forever, just like the stupid whole on the side of his head where his ear should be.

George sighed, yet again, allowing the numbness to take back over, and took a quick peek in the mirror. His ginger hair was a bit tousled and his eyes were perpetually tired, but it would have to do. He had taken to not looking in mirrors for too long- even that could arouse some hurt from below the numbness George had taken to.

With that, George stumbled out of the bedroom and down the stairs. It was quite convenient, especially on days when he overslept, that the apartment was right above the shop. He came out from behind the back room to see that the store was already fully lit and sparkling. The sun had gotten to down here, too.

One or two early morning customers, probably looking for Christmas gifts, were already perusing the shelves, glancing over tinkering gadgets, flittering pygmy puffs, and enticing labels.

"Well, if your excuse is that you couldn't hear the alarm because of your bad ear, I am afraid you will be getting no sympathy from me," A light, teasing voice spoke out from behind him. George managed a genuine smile as he turned around. Verity was standing behind the register already, her short, blonde hair seeming to double and reflect the rays of the morning sun.

She had returned shortly after the fall of You-Know-Who. As a Muggle-born, she and her family had been in great danger, but now that she was back…

"But that's what we hired you for, Verity, dear. Your alleged sympathy for lazy business owners. That and your good looks." George grinned. It was a rare occasion that he felt so comfortable speaking so outgoingly, lately, but he found that Verity was one of the few with whom he could truly be happy around. Perhaps it was because it was with Verity whom he spent most of his time with, now, considering they both worked basically every day. Or, perhaps it was due to the fact that he _had_ to yield a façade of happiness to run the shop that he found it so easy to be happy around her, too.

"You'll simply have to fire me. Although, I must say, I don't think my looks have suffered all too much in recent times." Verity shrugged. "Oh well. Merlin knows there are quite a few good potential assistants out of all the ones I looked at for you. Some of them I interviewed are even prettier than me, I think."

George rolled his eyes. "Verity, dear, what would I do without you? Opening up the shop all on your own without me! Honestly, it's almost as if you're a wonderful employee or something. Really- if we had hired simply based on good looks, you would have been beaten by far, and I would probably be attempting to perform the difficult task of turning the 'Open' sign on as we speak."

"I'll take that as a compliment…" Verity snorted. Then she put on her wonderful 'air of business'. "But really… I've organized the files of the best candidates. Based on skills and eagerness as opposed to looks, I'm afraid. Although, I won't lie, the fact that some seem easier for me, personally, to get along with than others did assuage my order of opinion."

After a while of it being just George and Verity, he had realized that perhaps another helpful hand at the shop was needed. When Fred… when he was still around, things had been so much easier. Hiring a second assistant had never even crossed their thoughts, but now... He had drawn up a 'Now Hiring' sign. Almost immediately a flood of witches had applied and had come to be interviewed. From the first one, most of them had simply come to talk to one of the Weasleys, who had 'supposedly' played a huge role in the overcoming of darkness. The fourth young lady he had turned down had asked him far too much about Fred, and Verity had taken over sorting the applicants after that, much to his huge relief.

"I take your honesty to heart." George placed his right hand over his chest. "And luckily, I do tend to value your opinion on such matters. I will look through those right away, as soon as I help this poor gentleman out."

One of the customers had tried to get out a pygmy puff, which was now currently attempting to build a nest within the man's thick, brown locks.

No, it wasn't easy running a business all alone. It wasn't easy running it without Fred, most of all. But at least he had Verity…


	3. A Different Dream

**Chapter Three**

A Different Dream

_He was back at Hogwarts, again. It was the same day. Not again... No... this time it was different. This time, he could see things that were… that weren't Fred's body._

"…_the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine!" that dark, evil voice cried. Only this time, fear wasn't gripping George's emotions. He was feeling strangely neutral, as though… He did. He knew what was happening._

_George was back, watching that final battle at Hogwarts. That triumphant battle between Harry and You-Know-Who. The battle that would go down in history forever. He was standing where he had been when it happened last, and yet, he knew for certain he was watching it for a second time._

_He knew exactly when Lee, who stood beside him, would allow his eyes to grow wide. He knew exactly when, and what words would be spoken. Harry and You-Know-Who's mouths moved, lipping the words that the deepest, back part of George's memory recalled. But as for actually hearing them… Only several snippets of the famous conversation made it to George's ears this time._

_That was one of the differences. He couldn't hear anything save for pieces of what Harry and You-Know-Who said…_

_"Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand…"_

_At first George thought it was his ears. Had he lost another one?_

_"The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died…"_

_Instinctively, his hands flew up to the sides of his head. No… he had his one ear, still. Still only one, smooth hole. But then why could he only hear certain parts?_

_"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."_

_George finally noticed the pattern. But was he really...? Could that be it? Could he really only hear things when the Elder Wand was mentioned? The Elder Wand... Why did that sound familiar to him? Familiar beyond this conversation, beyond the explanations of Harry over the following weeks past this battle? Why was it significant?_

_"I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_

_The Elder Wand, again. He knew what would be coming soon- Voldemort would fall. The world would be engulfed in happiness and triumph. But it never came. Voldemort never crumpled to the ground, this time. Instead, all then grew silent, and George was speeding away in a swirl of colors from Hogwarts. He felt himself stretching, his world spinning. It was as though he was Apparating, and yet it was different. He felt his feet hit the ground. _

_He was standing by a bridge that stretched atop a massive, wild river. The water was rushing, splashing up against sharp rocks and muddy banks. There were angry clouds overhead, and wind billowed through the trees on the opposite side of the river. It was raining, George realized. Even then, the world seemed oddly tinted, like in an old-fashioned photograph._

_All of a sudden, he noticed three, cloaked shapes ahead, about to cross on the bridge. It all seemed vaguely familiar, as if he should know what these three men were doing, just as he had known what would happen back at Hogwarts._

_All of a sudden, everything seemed to blur in a snappish way. It hurt to watch as trees cringed past, the water splashed past in mismatched frames. It stopped. George was standing on the bridge. Had he…? It seemed as though he had just fast-forwarded through whatever was taking place._

_The three wizards were just ahead of them. They couldn't seem to see the fourth cloaked figure just yet. This figure was gliding towards them from the opposite end of the bridge. He was tall, dark, and shrouded in black. Unlike them, and unlike George, the shaking of the wooden bridge amidst the storm seemed not to unnerve him in the slightest. He was poised, balanced, unearthly…_

_Was it You-Know-Who?_

_The world began to do that fast-forward thing again. The images seemed to creak past in shaky, jaunty sheets. They met the cloaked man. A wand. A stone. A cloak. The river. The bridge. The stone. And then George was on the other side._

He woke up.

"Augh…" George groaned. _That_ was certainly a different dream than the usual… Whether he liked it more or less than the nightmare of Fred, he was still uncertain. Less haunting, gut-wrenching, hurtful. More freakish, warped, confusing.

Whereas the usual nightmare hurt his heart, this one hurt his head. In fact, it was still throbbing dully.

He looked to the Good Clock. It was 7 in the morning. That was good news. He wouldn't be late _or _dead tired today. He refused, once again, to look at the Bad Clock.

Still, this different dream had caused him to wake up with a different set of feelings… Rather than giving the usual sigh, feeling the usual numbness, George's mind felt rather… lively.

George got up, flicked open the window again. Too early to see nearly as many people, this time. George traveled to the kitchen, and with a few swishes and jabs, he had himself a nice breakfast of eggs and bacon. Instead of looking to the Daily Prophet, which an owl had probably dropped off earlier after taking its pre-set payment, George mulled over his dream.

Now that he was awake, it was harder to recall… It involved that Elder Wand, he knew that much. He could picture a furious river, too. But that was all he could think of. Those two ideas were all that was left besides the feeling that he wanted to... somehow... _do _something. He needed to figure it all out. Curiosity and frustration… Those were two things he hadn't truly felt for a while, either. It was almost relieving to know that he still could feel those things…

So, despite yearning to figure out the dream and being, angrily, unable to, George still found a half-smile work its way to his mouth as he headed down the usual path to work.

The shop wasn't yet open- it wouldn't be until 8 that the doors of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would open, that another day of smiles, salesmanship, and entertaining customers would begin.

"What are you smiling about?" Verity called out with a smirk almost as soon as he had walked out of the back. She was rearranging some of the Wonder Witch Products on the shelves, but had looked up at his entrance. George just smiled even more.

"Well, Verity, since you asked so nicely, I will tell you that I had a very peculiar dream." George answered truthfully. Almost instantly, Verity's face fell.

"Oh, George, it's not the same nightmare about… well, _him_ again, is it?" She asked, worry etched all over her smooth, light face. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Fred haunted his sleep. Perhaps a week after the shop had reopened months ago, when the nightmare had been at its worst, she had realized. The bruise-like sags under his eyes had given away his terrible sleeping pattern, then, and Verity had guesses almost right away the reason for it.

George shook his head and waved her away. "I wouldn't be smiling if it were, Verity. No… this dream was a lot… weirder. Well, a lot more confusing, at least."

He noticed her release a sigh of relief, and almost instantly an inquiring look reappeared through her bright eyes. "Do I get to hear what it was about, or am I going to be left in the dark with this one?"

"I'd tell you more, if I could, but I can't remember it… There was something about the Elder Wand- you know, that wand that always wins- and then a _huge_ river… There was more, I think, and it all just seemed so important to work out, but…" George broke off. This conversation was getting a little too serious. Verity would start to worry about his sanity, now. I mean, really. A dream was just a dream, right? Maybe he was going a little overboard with it. "Of course, then the midget goblins with spattergoit came in, along with a tribe of pygmy puffs hunting a Crumple-Horned Snorcack. Maybe it wasn't so important after all."

Verity laugh but cast him a sparkling eye. "You know, a great deal can be said about our dreams, George. Midget goblins and Crackle-Horned Whatevers aside, it's always been interesting to notice that sometimes dreams reflect upon what we're doing in reality, or what we will do."

"Wow…" George's eyes had gone wide. "I must say, Verity, Oh Great Mistress of Dream Oracles, I never pegged you to be one for Divination."

Verity rolled her eyes. "It's not Divination, George, Oh Great Master of Annoyance. I mean, even in the Muggle world, dreams have always had some sort of… hold on the people to which they come."

George stroked his chin, as though in thought. "Hm… 'Oh Great Master of Annoyance'. I must say, that has a ring to it. Perhaps that's what you should refer to me as now, instead of 'boss'? Or perhaps you already do, behind my back!"

Verity just gave a frustrated shake of the head, and went back to her work. When he was sure she wasn't looking, George allowed his face to fall back into a contemplative state. He pretended to shuffle through receipt files behind the desk, but really he was still thinking about the dream.

"_Sometimes dreams reflect upon what we're doing in reality, or what we will do."_ Verity's voice was echoing in his head.

But this dream… this dream with the Elder Wand and the river. It obviously wasn't about what he was doing presently- scraping by each day at the shop. Could it possibly be giving him clues about what he would do in the future?

It seemed silly, it really did. George had detested Divination, deplored writing down pointless meanings behind each made-up dream he supposedly had back at Hogwarts. Trelawny had been damaged in the head, and that enough ruined any intrigue the subject may have had.

Somehow, this dream seemed different. This dream seemed like it actually did have something important behind it.

I mean, the nightmare with Fred obviously meant something. _That _dream wasn't pointless. It reminded him every night of his brother's death, of the hole in his soul. I mean, if the nightmare had more to it than just being a nightmare, why couldn't this new, this different dream mean more, as well?

It had to mean something. It had to indicate _something_…

But, the question was, how on earth would a dream about the Elder Wand and a crazy river fit into George's future?


	4. The Dreamseeker Deluxe

((Feedback, please! What do you all think of it so far? Is it good? Bad? Weird? Confusing? Feedback would do wonders for me, you have no idea!))

**Chapter Four**

The Dreamseeker Deluxe

A little over two weeks had passed from the first time George had awoken from the new, different dream. It had come every night since, and George found that with each following morning, he remembered more and more.

He remembered the three, cloaked figures as they crossed the bridge; he remembered the significance of Harry and You-Know-Who mentioning the wand. He remembered the old-fashioned, jerky visions, and the precise, fluid memories of the other half of his dream. He remembered a stone…

It was still not enough to make sense of it all.

More than anything, the ability to recall more pieces of the dream led him to become increasingly, desperately curious to find out something- anything- as to what the dream might mean. His brain searched and foraged through any and all bits of information he had stored in the back of his mind, looking for _anything_ that might indicate some sort of significant connection.

He hadn't had much luck, as of yet, to say the least. In fact, George doubted that he alone could ever manage to relate the dream to his future, if that was the purpose of it, anyway.

Still... that didn't mean he was ready to give up, just yet.

It was now the day of Christmas Eve, and Verity and he were just closing up. They were a bit late. Well… they were _really_ late. When Closing Time had come, they had been prevented from doing such by a line of people that still was out the door for the register. It was surprising how many witches and wizards had arrived to top off last-minute shopping. The store had made the most Galleons in this one day than perhaps it ever had in a solitary day since its start.

George had managed, with the help of Verity, to whip up a few simple holiday products to go on sale. These included Everlasting Snowmen who insulted anyone who tried to take away their scarves or top-hats, a new breed of red-and-green pigmented pygmy puffs, and Tricky Tree Lights that spelled out funny holiday greetings on any conifer they were placed upon. Most of them had been imagined by both Fred and George ages back, stored in a safe notebook, saved for a holiday when no other, better inspiration came.

Seeing as George hadn't invented anything on his own for quite a while, he had figured that this was that special holiday.

He could tell that Verity was tired and anxious to return home. However, that didn't stop the brightness flooding from her eyes as she conjured away the realistic snow they had bewitched to fall from the ceiling. George himself was exhausted, and it wasn't just from the constant sales that had gone on endlessly the past 10 hours or so (although that certainly had not helped, either). His constant wonderings about the dream had made him increasingly lethargic.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was go to the Burrow for Christmas Eve Dinner.

As if reading his mind, Verity piped up. "I'm sure it'll be quite fun to go back home for Christmas. I mean, you haven't seen all of your family in a while."

George snorted. She had no idea.

Verity frowned. "No, _really_, George!" She pressed. "From what I've heard of your family, at least your Christmas Eve Dinner is bound to be a bit more exciting than mine. It's just my parents, my ancient great-auntie, and I! And they're all Muggles! I'll probably be asleep before we even get to the main course."

George gave her a weak smile. He couldn't manage much more.

This was going to be his first Christmas ever without Fred. It seemed unimaginable, unreal. George hadn't even been able to pluck up the imagination to get creative with gifts this year. He had never had to give gifts on his own before. He and Fred had always chipped in together, thought of witty, funny things to give… _From Fred and George_. It has always been 'From Fred and George.' Now… 'From George'? It sounded alien, foreign, wrong… The numbness, maliciously intent on making a full comeback, was starting to wind its way like an icy vine through him.

"Well…" Verity sighed. They looked around. All was done that was needed to be done. "I guess, with that, I will take my leave."

George watched as she made her way to the door, twirling her sky blue cloak around her. She opened the entryway, but then paused.

"Oh!" She popped back in with a smile. "Almost forgot…"

She pulled out of nowhere a small parcel, wrapped in paper and topped with a tiny bow. She thrust it into George's hands. George was speechless. He felt awful, for one, that she had gotten him a gift and he hadn't even thought… Well. He _had_ thought, but he had thought it would make things at work complicated somehow. Now he just felt lazy for not getting her a gift, and embarrassed…

"I… thank you, Verity." George stammered out, holding the package up to eye-level. He could feel his ears begin to burn red. "I'm sure that, whatever it is, it's wonderful… I… I'm sorry, but I've been so busy and everything, I hadn't thought…"

Verity just waved him off. "Don't worry about it. I just figured that I'd better start sucking up to you now that I call you George, as opposed to 'Mr. Weasley'."

"No, really, I swear, I am going to get you a gift, no matter how late, if it's the last thing I do…" George promised. She just rolled her eyes.

"Just so you know, I am wholly expecting a pay raise after the Holidays. I'm sure we made quite enough just today to manage that along with hiring another assistant." Verity grinned, winked, and made for the door.

"This wrapping paper is from the store, though! That's definitely coming out of your raise!" He called after her, teasingly, and then she was gone.

As soon as she had left, George found himself delicately unwrapping the gift. A small, glass sphere, no greater than the size of a snitch, was resting in his palm. A note of the tiniest proportions was now stretching, growing in his hand, the writing becoming increasingly legible. It was Verity's own, tidy scrawl.

_Hello, George! For Christmas, I've decided to get you one of these. In case it doesn't look familiar (which it probably doesn't), it's called a Dreamseeker Deluxe. It kind of works like a Remembrall, only instead of turning colors when you've forgotten something, it changes when something that can help you seek out your dreams is near. You're probably not familiar with it because it's the only one out there; I made it myself. I must say, I'm not too sure how reliable this thing is at actually functioning; my magic is nowhere near as great as yours or your brother's. It's quite possibly even vaguer than a Remembrall itself. I mean, really, anything can relate to dream, right? But… I figured that a man so focused on his dreams could use at least a little help, even if the only help it gives is false hope (which is better than despair, at least). So, I hope you find a good use for it (even as just a small paperweight, maybe?), and I hope you have a very Happy Christmas, Oh Great Master- I mean, Boss! -Verity_

A feeling of warmth spread through him. George had read through the note twice, and glanced back down at the shining, smooth contraption in his hand. A clear, glittering smoke filled it, swirling gentle and neutral. It was brilliant! He felt like hitting himself over the head. Verity had made him- actually, physically _created_ for him- such a wonderful gift. And even though even he had his doubts as to its reliability, the fact that she had noticed- had cared… And George hadn't gotten her anything.

All of a sudden, his instincts seemed to take over. The numbness was banished. He had an unmistakable urge to run out after her, which is what he did despite the cold and snow.

"Wait!" George found himself calling out. He couldn't see her, but he knew where she'd be. Waiting in line for Floo travel at the nearest fireplace; at the café next door. George rushed in at full speed, despite the glances he stole from passerbys.

"Verity!" He called again, spotting her. She was standing at the very front of a line consisting of about five wizards and witches, green flames already glowing in the brick. Verity had turned around, looking confused but beautiful, and George was now trotting up to her. Much to her surprise, and just as much to his, he found himself stepping through the queue and leaning in to…

He stopped before he could kiss her. Logic had finally gotten the best of him. Couldn't make things complicated, remember? Verity was one of the few people he was happy around. She was his… employee. He couldn't make things complicated. _Stupid, stupid, stupid git…_

However, Verity seemed to have already realized his original intention, and was now eyeing him warily.

Awkwardness seemed to fill up the air like an awful, thick potion.

"Um…" George bumbled. "I… just… Happy Christmas, Verity."

"Happy Christmas, George." She replied, somewhat cautiously, but with a coy smile on her face.

"Happy Christmas to all of yeh!" exclaimed the elderly wizard carter who was next in line. "Now couldjoo Floo home already? I've got fourteen grankids and a meal to get home to!"

Verity gave George a blushing smile, a quick wave, and with that she vanished into the flames.

_Fred would have kissed her…_ a voice in his head surged before he could stop it. Immediately, George's face fell.

_No_, another piece his mind argued. _Fred wouldn't have gotten involved with the shop assistant in the first place- "bad for business," he'd say._

_Who knows what Fred would have done?_ The most sinister part of George's mind yet seemed to hiss. _He's not here and he never will be again. Never, ever, ever..._

George forced his brain to shut up.

His happy mood had sunk down to the deepest fissures and pits of the earth. Instead, he began to feel the fuzzy, freezing effects of having left his cloak in the shop. Could he ever get anything right? He had messed up his usual numbness, he has messed up keeping things un-complicated, and he had messed up with Verity.

Especially after that last bout of awkwardness, he was not looking forward to Christmas Eve Dinner at the Burrow one bit.


	5. Dinner at the Burrow

((Well… I've gotten lots of alerts and favorites, for which I am exceptionally grateful (you guys rock!), but still only 6 reviews! It's not a matter of numbers, really, but I just am in dire need for feedback of any kind. Constructive criticism is more than welcome and I really just want to know what you all are thinking about this because I am at a loss when it comes to judging my own writing! Thanks, and hope you are enjoying the story at least!))

**Chapter Five**

Dinner at the Burrow

George found himself at the Burrow. He had Apparated onto a snowy lane that led up to the mismatched house he had called home for more than a good portion of his life. The trees here were blanketed in a gentle white, and despite the cold and his vacillation to enter, George couldn't help but feel an annoying warmth drawing him to the smoking chimney and brightly lit windows.

As George walked up to the Burrow, he pulled out the Dreamseeker Deluxe from his pocket, almost instinctively, and took a peek at it. Unlike before, the glittering smoke of the sphere had turned a deep blue. He had pocketed it after locking up 93 Diagon Alley, just to keep with him as comfortable reminder. Though, perhaps Verity hadn't been exaggerating when she wrote that the Dreamseeker was even vaguer than a Remembrall (which was definitely saying something on terms of vagueness). I mean, after all, what on earth did the Burrow have to do with his odd dream? He slipped the Dreamseeker into his pocket once more, slightly disappointed.

Crunching up to the doorway, George paused as soon as he hit the frame. Questions he had never thought before were suddenly inhibiting him from movement. He could only stand and look at the door.

Was it normal to knock on the door of your old home? Was that too formal? Should he just walk right in? But that wouldn't feel right, either… He hadn't been home, even for a quick visit, in over a month now. Possibly over two. Molly hadn't sounded mad in her letters, but what if she would take it as a rude gesture if he simply barged in without knocking?

George, fortunately, was saved from making any decision. The door had been thrown aside.

"Oh, GEORGE!" Mrs. Weasley was on him before he could even think 'Happy Christmas', engulfing him in hug that seemed to suck all the air out of his lungs. "You're here! You're here!"

Trying to push her off without seeming rude, and before he fainted due to lack of oxygen, George took a step back in the doorway. Well… at least he hadn't needed to go through the awkward task of knocking.

Choking for air, he managed, "Yes, yes, I'm here! Happy Christmas to you, too, Mum."

He would have added something clever, like, "Trying to kill me before I eat all the food?" or something, but in light of the recent past, it hardly seemed appropriate. Nobody mentioned killing around Mrs. Weasley any more, even as a joke. George wasn't complaining about that, either, though.

He was glad to see that she was beaming, at least. She had truly outdone herself decorating the Burrow this year. Lights, sprigs of holly and mistletoe, and ornaments clung to every free inch from what he could see inside the entrance. A giant tree was nearly doubled over off the side of the kitchen; the ceiling height had obviously not been in consideration when the Weasleys had brought it in. Tinsel, stars, and even a few live fairies were sparkling about.

"Oh, George!" She cried once more. "I feel like I haven't seen you in _ages_! You look a bit taller!"

"No, I don't, Mum."

"And you _certainly_ look thinner…"

"No, I don't, Mum."

"I'm sure it's nothing a huge Christmas Eve Dinner won't fix!" She ignored his protests with pinch of his cheek.

George smiled. "Are you going to let me inside, or not?"

Molly raised her hands, in a fluster. "Oh, of course, dear! Forgive a mother her curiosity! Everyone's at the table already- we've been waiting for you!"

George felt bad already, as he was guided inside, and his heavy winter cloak flew to an already full rack. Sure enough, it seemed like everyone the Weasleys knew was seated at a giant table. George had never seen so many people in the kitchen of the Burrow before, and there was no doubt that more than a few adjustments had been made to the architecture to accompany such.

One enormously long table stretched out across the room. At the head was Arthur, his face jolly and bright from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. An empty space for Molly was to his left, and Mr. and Mrs. Delacour sat side by side to his right. Then came little Gabrielle, cooing to Fleur, whose large stomach seemed on the verge of bursting. Bill was talking animatedly across the table to Charlie from beside her. In between Mrs. Weasley and Charlie sat Andromeda Tonks, beside little Teddy Lupin in a high chair. Next to the baby was Percy, looking slightly uncomfortable, either due to the fact that it was his first huge Burrow gathering in nearly three years, or because little Teddy was making his hair turn the same, tomato-red color as his own. On Charlie's other hand was an empty seat, to which Mrs. Weasley ushered George himself. Ginny and Harry were next to him, and Hermione and Ron were smiling opposite them. Finishing the table on either end was a dreamy-eyed Luna Lovegood and a cheery-faced Neville Longbottom. There was one more empty seat- sitting right across from George, creating a gap between Bill and Hermione.

George looked to Mrs. Weasley, who was about to say something. Had she really left a seat open for…?

"Who's that seat for?" He asked Ginny as soon as he sat down.

She shot him an angry glare. "Kingsley _was_ here, but he had to leave. We thought dinner would be _over _by now."

A flood of relief washed over him. And a flood of remorse for apparently being so late from the shop. George was receiving looks from nearly everyone along the table that suggested they were on the verge of savage hunger.

"Now, then!" She clapped her hands together. "George is here at last and it is time to eat!"

"Took you long enough," Charlie berated. "My stomach was about to start digesting itself!"

"You didn't have to wait for me…" George grumbled. He looked down at his knees in embarrassment, but didn't miss Charlie casting a speculative look towards Bill.

"No matter, no matter!" Molly continued joyfully, waving Charlie's comment away. "We're all here now! Now… seeing as You-Know-Who is _really_ gone for the first time in basically half a century, and the world is at a time of miraculous peace, I think we should all go around the table in turns before we start and give a little Christmas thanks for the year!"

"Molly!" Chorused an angry, starving table.

Even Arthur was looking up at his wife, a pleading look upon his face.

Molly frowned, obviously overruled. "All right, all right. Dig in, then." She waved her wand and from the stove and oven floated all sorts of wonderful smelling food to their plates. Roast turkey, mashed potatoes, panfried fish, a steaming stew, and more; even George, who apparently lacked the same fervent appetite of his companions, felt his mouth watering.

"You never told me you got a house-elf, Mum!" George called. Molly gave him a glare.

"For the record, my cooking abilities have always been excellent! Now _eat_!" She jabbed her wand in his direction, making his fork to act on its own accord, scooping up some potatoes and shoving them into his open mouth.

For some time, there was only silence and the sound of chewing. Gradually, various conversations spurted up across the table.

"Oo know?" Ron spoke in his classic food-in-the-mouth tongues. "I fink vat dis is te best 'inner we've e'er 'ad 'ere."

"Ron, how many times do I have to tell you to chew your food before you even attempt to talk to us?! It's barbaric." Hermione growled. George was sure he saw her smile, though, before she dove for some stew.

George would have retorted with something witty, along the lines of, "Relax, Hermione. Can't you see that it's Ron's dream to invent a new language that is even more primeval than Troll?" but it didn't even sound that funny in his own head. George, instead, turned his good ear to other conversations along the table.

"Well, obviously, I understand where you are coming from, Bill, but personally I think that brooms need a little more work done on them before they are released in such great quantities to the general public." Percy was now in charge of the Magical Transportation Department. Bill obviously wasn't too, too pleased.

"Percy, what more can really be done?! I mean, most have as many anti-jinxes on them as there are in the book! To postpone their releases any longer only takes up space and time, I think."

Gabrielle was still babbling to her sister. "Oo! Fleur! Look at zat baby's hair! 'E is making eet long and seelvary like ours! 'Ow adorable! Will your baby be able to do zat?!"

"I should certainly 'ope not!"

Luckily, Teddy's caregiver was busy listening to Arthur. "So, Andromeda, I hear you spent some time living amongst Muggles after your Hogwarts graduation. What was that like? I mean, did you use elktricity and everything?"

Meanwhile, Molly herself was being flattered by Monsieur and Madame Delacour. "Oho, Molly, I must say zat back at home not even our house-elves could cook a meal zis splendid!"

Percy and Bill had stopped arguing. Now, they were whispering conspiratorially, with Charlie, too and no one was seeming to pay them much attention. George himself pretended to be amazed by his piece of turkey, eating with sudden ardor.

"…he hasn't been joking nearly as much. I mean, I thought of a billion witty comebacks to what you said, Charlie, but…"

"Shh…"

"I mean, we're all sad, we're all hurting, but…"

"It's different with him, I believe. I mean… I was there, and I took it badly, I still feel guilty, but he…"

A sinking feeling erupted in George's stomach. He decided that maybe this was a good time to tune in to the other end of the table.

"…and that's the _real_ reason You-Know-Who was so inept in his last moments. _Obviously_ a whole herd of Wrackspurt had crossed him." Luna finished, a far-out, complacent smile on her face.

"Yeah, that and the fact that he never had control of the Elder Wand, or any of the other Hallows," muttered Harry, thinking only Ginny, who grinned, could hear. George's heart skipped a beat, the stinging words of his brothers' conversation vanished. _The Elder Wand_. The Elder Wand from his dream, and well, apparently from Harry's past, too! But what were these other Hallow things?

"Well, he didn't even know about the others. I mean, really, and here was the guy who wanted to cheat Death." Ginny whispered. George could see Harry shake his head out of the corner of his eye. Then, all of a sudden, it hit him. Like a tidal wave. George could almost feel his feet leave the floor.

It was from what Ginny said about Death. The Elder Wand. He had first heard of the Elder Wand in a children's book. In a story. The Three Brothers. Who else could those three cloaked wizards be? And the fourth? That was Death. They had tried to cheat death! In his dream it all looked so familiar because that was what he had pictured in his mind every time Molly had read that story to them!

The Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the Resurrection Stone. Those were the three objects that flashed through his mind before he woke up!

George nearly choked on his turkey with realization.

The Resurrection Stone.

This was big. This was bigger than... well… big. It was so big that he couldn't even think of something it was bigger than.

The Resurrection Stone.

George glanced to the empty seat across from him. Sure, maybe Kingsley had sat there, but for him it was a symbol as to what he was missing. Fred could just as easily be sitting across from him.

A rush of hope flooded through him. He could be! Fred could be back right now, even if it was just as a… well, whatever the lady in that story was to that one brother. He could have his brother, his other half, his reflection back! He could have his humor, his smile, his real emotions back!

Then a chill of sanity shivered down George's spine. What he was thinking?! What he was getting at was insane. _Certifiably insane_. I mean, Invisibility Cloaks were fairly common things, weren't they? I mean, the Order had used them almost constantly. The Elder Wand had obviously existed; Harry had used it himself.

A wand and a cloak. I mean, the Elder Wand had been around forever. What if some great wand maker of the past just hadn't invented it? And Invisibility Cloak could have been just as plausible. The stone… _that_ was a totally different thing.

To bring back the dead. That was something completely different from a decent wand and a hiding cloak. George found himself staring at the empty plate. All of the conversations were been blocked from his mind.

_But still…_

If the Elder wand had been real… If Invisibility Cloaks were real… Could the stone be real, too? Could it really…? Could Fred really be here with him, again? Could he have his brother back?

"Harry." George spoke without warning, gaining a worried look from that whole end of the table. He had apparently interrupted their conversation.

"Yes, George?" Harry was speaking slowly and cautiously, as though he expected George to explode at any given moment.

"The Elder Wand… would you… by any chance know if it is that wand from that old story? The Story of the Three Brothers? You know, with Death and the bridge and the cloak and… stone?"

Immediately he could tell he had struck an interesting chord. Only Luna and Neville seemed oddly unawares, as curious as George was. The other four had grown silent. Indeed, Hermione was casting Ron a silencing look, and Harry was studying George with even more intensity than before.

"I… I wouldn't really know, George." Harry spoke. "The Wand was real enough, but I haven't a clue about the others."

Lies. Lies, lies, lies. He had to be lying! Why else would they all have grown so silent? It was written all over Harry's face. But if Harry was going to make a game out of it… George was going to play until he knew how to bend the rules.

George put on a fake smile. "Oh, right. Well, I was just curious." George went back to his food, and Hermione immediately launched into a story about a mishap of a fellow trainee in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. How convenient.

George felt as though he belonged in St. Mungo's. His brain was about to implode from all this newfound information. He was crazy just to think of the thing he was thinking about. What he needed was therapeutic help, not some Stone… I mean… it couldn't possibly be real… But why had Harry bothered with such an obvious cover-up? Was he just imagining things to be bigger than they were? George took out the Dreamseeker. The smoke was swirling with a fervor it hadn't been, before.

The Resurrection Stone. Was it really real? Could it be? Could it really bring back…? George looked at the empty seat again.

George chanced a glance at Harry, who was now laughing with his friends.

There was only one person he would trust to _really_ know. The question was… would that person tell him?


	6. Mr Weasley Once More

((huge sigh of relief: Okay. I am in love with you people for giving me feedback. I just wasn't sure what people were thinking about this thing; I was in a state of momentary confusion as to my own feelings about this story. I thank you all _so_ much for letting me know. Anyway, here is the next chapter- I will try to cut down on these pesky author's notes, I promise, and I hope you all enjoy it.))

**Chapter Six**

Mr. Weasley Once More

"Hello, Boss! Meet our new assistant!" Verity had materialized out of nowhere to the back room, and she held before her, in classic show room fashion, another girl. This one had long, dark curls, was quite short, but was smiling brightly with just a touch of nerves. "Chrysanthymum Treebrittle. Chrys, for short, as you could imagine."

"Ah." A smile tugged at the corners of George's mouth. "Well… Welcome, then, _Chrys_. I am George- hereby to be known to you as Mr. Weasley. Verity here will teach you the things you need to know, and I am sure we will have wonderful use for you."

And with that, George dove back into the book he had been reading.

George could have thought of a million ways to make fun of the newcomer's name, officially inducting her into the Joke Business. I mean… _Chrysanthymum Treebrittle_? She could have easily given Tonks a run for her money. Yes, if he had wanted to, George could have taken the time to make sport of Chrys's name, but considering he barely took more than a moment to glance at her before delving back into Children's Lore and Life: When Does Fantasy Meet Reality?, it didn't seem worth the brain power.

Over the past two weeks, he had managed to convert a small corner of the back room- usually filled to the brim with brown boxes, prototype products, and filing cabinets- into a small little research area.

Well… it _had_ been small. Now it was practically a full-fledged study niche. Stacks of books recently purchased off the shelves within the deepest entrails of Flourish and Blotts teetered, on the brink of tumbling off the desk he had wedged back there. A small pile of George's own notes sat scattered all across the wooden surface; three empty ink bottles and two broken feather quills sat as reminders of his tedious work.

Tedious work, tedious work…

George had never worked so hard in his life. When Fred was around, there had seemed to be no need to. Fred had always been coming up with better, more exciting schemes, and George had always been more than happy for an excuse to escape dull schoolwork. They had reveled in the fact that they were taking the road less traveled. While all their classmates were hitting the books for hours upon hours, Fred and George were dreaming up wonderful inventions, and figuring out just how those inventions could become real.

This tedious work was something new to him.

He could hear Molly's reprimands now, "If only you had applied yourself to studying for O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s as much as you have with this!"

Of course, George intended to never, ever, in a million years let Molly Weasley know that he was spending hours and hours a day doing this type of research.

He had become determined. Every mention, every hint, now matter how small or insignificant, at a magical stone that could bring back the deceased… It filled his heart with hope. And even though he had already expressed doubts, he couldn't help but receive more faith, as the Dreamseeker Deluxe had been smoking up a storm since Christmas Eve.

It didn't matter that he was consumed, night and day, reading the footnotes of texts entitled things like The Hollow Search for the Hallows or Bogus Beliefs of Britain. It didn't matter that he had taken out the pages that held The Story of the Three Brothers from an old children's book. It didn't matter that he had stuck those pages along his bedroom wall so that he could see them every morning after he woke up from his (now) fully-remembered dream.

It didn't matter that he barely ate, it didn't matter that he had no idea how the business was doing; it didn't matter, didn't matter.

All that mattered was that the possibility of the Resurrection Stone, the possibility of its existence, was becoming saner and saner a thought.

All that mattered was the scene that ran through George's mind, the scene that erased all of his fatigue and hopelessness. The scene where George held the Stone in his hands, and all of a sudden Fred would appear. Fred would appear and the first thing he would do was make a joke about being dead, before turning his humor onto George's ear once more, like: "I may be dead, but at least _I've_ still got both my ears."

It would be "Fred and George" again, not just "George". They would be the dynamic duo once more.

Fred would be back, would laugh, and smile again. He would solve all problems with the business, he would advise George on his love life, and George would have his twin, his second half, back again. Molly would cry with happiness, Percy wouldn't feel guilty, and that extra seat at Christmas Eve dinner would be filled again. Everything would be back to normal!

Of course, the man with the stone in that silly children's tale had gone insane. Killed himself or something. The lady he had brought back hadn't come back all the way; something had gone wrong, George supposed. That was to no matter. George was 100 positive that when he had his hands on that stone, Fred would come back for real. He had to. George would make the Stone work properly, and Fred would be back.

"George!" A voice snapped him out of his own little world. It was Verity.

Ever since that awkward encounter on Christmas Eve, George had been strenuously polite. However, politeness didn't manage to stop the feeling of singing hippogriffs in his stomach each time George found himself alone with the increasingly charming Verity for too long. What stopped _that_ feeling was his decision to hold off, stop himself from making any more mistakes where Verity was concerned, until he had Fred, his number one mentor, back. Yes, until then, he would play it polite and cool…

"Oh, er, hello. I thought I already met Chrys?"

Verity's brows were furrowed, eyes narrowed. She had an uncanny resemblance to a cross Mrs. Weasley just then. The hippogriffs in his stomach were silenced. George knew he was in trouble.

"Oh, yes, you've met Chrys! She is all flustered now, thinks you hate her! You barely spent more than two seconds to acknowledge her!" Verity vented in a harsh whisper. "She is your new employee- you should be making her feel at home, not hiding here in the back room 24/7!"

George let out a sigh. He should have foreseen this. Guiltily, George did admit that he had left Verity to handle most everything that dealt with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes these past weeks. Of course he had given her a handsome raise for it all; he hadn't even taken out the cost of the Dreamseeker's wrapping paper or anything. He had even promoted her from "Shop Assistant" to "Head Manager" for lack of a better position title.

"I know. I'm sorry, Verity. Tell Chrys I belong at St. Mungo's or something. I just… this is a really important book; I had to order it special at Flourish and Blotts." George grumbled, patting the thick volume fondly.

Verity's eyes seemed to flash. This was the first time George had ever seen her so… unhappy.

"What is it you're even reading?! A book about Children's Tales?!" Verity snarled, leering at the bold title. "I have been working my tail off here, but it's like I've been working for a ghost! You are back here every moment, and don't think for one second that I don't know you stay back here even after store hours. I am _worried_ about you, Fred."

George froze. Verity caught her mistake, and seemed to choke.

George stood. His plan of staying polite and cool flew right out the window, probably atop those stomach hippogriffs. With unwanted menace, he found himself nearly yelling, "Fred?! You're worried about _me_, _Fred_? In case you haven't noticed, I am not Fred, and Fred is not here!"

He expected her to back down out of pity or something, but instead her eyes fired up all over again.

"Listen here! I have _in fac_t noticed that Fred is gone, and I have in fact noticed that you are not him! But… I have also noticed that you are becoming _obsessive_! You are making yourself sick, George!" She cried. "Look at you! You are getting thinner and thinner, you are as pale as Death itself, and it seems to me that you got more sleep when you were still having that awful nightmare!"

George didn't reply. He couldn't, he was so angry. Obsessive? He wasn't _obsessive_! He was _determined_. What right did she have? Since when was it her duty to reprimand him?

Verity continued, this time more serious. "I'm _worried_, George. I know that this," She motioned to his corner, "Is about him. I don't know how it is, but I know that this is about Fred. We _all_ miss him, George, but it's like… it's like you're acting as though _you're_ the one dead, not him. You're still here, George! We miss him, but we can't bring him back!"

George stifled a shout of vengeful triumph. He was going to point out that she was wrong, that Fred could come back with the help of a certain Resurrection Stone, but then he realized that she wouldn't believe him. She really _would_ put him in St. Mungo's. Frustrated that he couldn't beat her assault with this piece of information, George's fury continued to build.

"George…" Verity had put a hand on his arm, and true concern did ebb from her eyes, now. "You're going to be very cross with me when you hear this, but I did it for your best interest..."

"If it's going to make me more cross, then don't tell me!" George barked, wondering what more she could possibly say. She drew back her hand defensively.

Verity's face grew hard as stone, and with an unmistakably vindictive tone, she said, "I wrote your mother."

"_What_?!" George hollered. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. "You did _what_?!"

"I just told her that you seemed distracted lately and that she should talk to you! You won't talk to me, but maybe you'll tell her what this is all about! And then I'll have my normal boss back!" Verity seethed.

The pent-up anger had reached its limit. "Listen here, Verity! This is none of your business what I do back here, and it is none of your business to go off ratting me out to my _mother _of all people! It is not your job to babysit me or tell me what to do! It is your job to manage the store and help Chrys settle in and do what I say! All duties of which, by the way, you are neglecting by coming back here to tell me off! I suggest you get back to those duties, or… or… I'll fire you!"

Verity took a step back, her eyes brimming with tears of anger. She was looking at him as though he had three heads or something.

"_Fine_." Her voice was eerily calm. "If that's how you want it to be, then fine. I'll go back out there and leave you alone. Oh- but I should tell you, before I do, that your mother is still going to be expecting you at 2 o'clock tomorrow afternoon, _Mr. Weasley_."

And with that, she gave a satirical bow, and swished through the curtains to the main shop, drawing them shut with an angry tug.

George knew she had had the last word.

With more force than he should have, he plopped down onto his chair and reopened his book with a slam. The other books could no longer hold onto their stacks, and crashed onto the floor. George pretended not to notice.


	7. Alone

**Chapter Seven**

Alone

_A flash of the stone. A flash of an old, weathered hand. Those were gone._

_There were two young men. They both had bright, ginger hair. They were the same height, the same width, and held the same stance. The walked with the same gait, and were on the same step. They probably didn't even notice. George was following them as they walked along, side by side, up to a quaint, cozy house. They laughed, and it was a laugh that sounded all too familiar._

_A hand seemed to have gripped George's heart. It was them, wasn't it? He was watching himself walk with his twin. He was watching Fred and George._

_But… something didn't feel right. It wasn't familiar, this time. This whole thing seemed foreign, as though not one part of it belonged to his own mind._

_The house was small with yellow sidings. It was unfamiliar to George. A small wood shadowed the lane upon which they walked, and moon lilies were blooming beside the doorstep._

_He was certain, now. He had left his own memories... this was something else... Why didn't he remember this? It was them, wasn't it?_

_The brothers reached the door and opened it. George caught a sight of their faces, and disappointment fell within an instant. He had been wrong. It wasn't Fred or himself. These brothers were identical twins, yes, but it wasn't them. _

_George's hopes were dashed, and the letdown of the moment seemed enough to pull him away…_

* * *

George woke up for the second time to a new, completely different dream. 

_Great. A whole 'nother whole dream to sort out_, thought George with a sense of hopelessness. It was bad enough that he was already neck-deep in fruitless research with the Stone. This dream didn't seem to have any relevance to that at all except for that flash at the beginning. If it didn't pertain to the stone, George just didn't want to care. He didn't care who those twins were; it didn't matter unless it was about Fred or the Stone.

For the first time in months, George stole a look at the Bad Clock. Yes, Fred's face was definitely still pointing down at 'Dead'. He wouldn't be, soon enough, George prayed…

The Good Clock said that it was eight o'clock. On a normal day, George may have rushed to get ready, in order to be on time for the store opening. Today, George cared even less whether he was late for work or not. Yesterday's round with Verity had left him in the foulest of moods.

George took his good, old time on purpose. He ate a hearty breakfast, though he knew he probably would be fed past bursting at Molly's later on. He tried on all the robes his closet held to "make sure they still fit", surrendering at last to the ones for work. He tidied up the flat a bit, and finally he reluctantly marched down the stairs to the shop. It was nearly 10.

George didn't turn and go to his study niche, nor did he pause to blink as he strode through the main store to the door. It was only when Verity called out to him from behind the counter that he stopped.

"And just where do you think you are going, _Mr. Weasley_?" Her tone had an unmistakable bite to it. "Your date with Mummy isn't until two."

He turned to face her. The world seemed to grow heavy and quiet. He noticed Chrys waiting on bated breath by the shelves, watching their exchange with conclusive fear. There were no customers as of yet, thank goodness.

George cleared his throat. "Well, _Verity_, as owner and sole proprietor of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, I have a few errands to run before my 'date with Mummy', as you so descriptively put it. I trust you can manage keeping to the store whilst I am gone. I may not be back until after closing. Chrys, I am sorry if I come off as a rude, misanthropic maniac. I assure you, my current attitude is only a temporary hindrance. Good day to you both."

After completing his monologue, George turned and whisked himself out the door with, what he thought, a flair of drama. He didn't even wait to see Verity's reaction this time.

Snow slicked the ground, still, although it had become more a gray slush than a crystal blanket over time. It had lost its scenic touch, and made the outside world baron and miserable-looking. George briskly walked up Diagon Alley, avoiding patches of ice as he did so.

That had gone off better than planned. He had made his point to Verity, apologized to Chrys, and now… Well, now he had no idea what he was going to do. George still had hours until he was expected at the Burrow, and he would have rather lost his other ear before arriving _there_ this early.

George found himself absentmindedly wandering along Diagon Alley. He walked with a dreamy step, thinking about everything and nothing all at once. The dreams, the stone, Verity, nothing… His mind was on autopilot, and he found himself pausing to look in shop windows without really seeing what was there. He passed face after face, but whether a face was familiar or not, it didn't register.

After what seemed like forever and no time at all, it was, of all things, a small, bright poster that brought George out of his stupor. It clung insignificantly to a window of some random shop, aside many other similar ads.

"WWN 106.3! Music, News, and Witty Conversation 24/7! Tune in with Lee Jordan- Here in the Mornin'!" the sign read. And sure enough, flashing a true smile, and giving thumbs up, was a moving photograph of Lee. George smiled. He hadn't talked to Lee in ages… Last time he had mentioned getting a job with the WWN, but that was the last George had heard. George looked to the small print at the bottom.

"WWN 106.3 Studios – 1333 Brewer Street London (near Piccadilly Circus)," said the fine text.

George suddenly knew how he was going to spend his time.

* * *

The door of the 1333 Brewer Street studio opened, and a warm draft flew out onto George. A tall, dark boy with bright eyes appeared in the entryway.

"George Weasley?!" Lee Jordan exclaimed, letting out a string of laughter. Lee was beaming as he threw his arms around George in a brotherly hug. George couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm of his dear friend.

"It's great to see you, Lee!" George grinned as soon as they pulled away.

Lee was shaking his head, in disbelief. "It's been far too long, George, far too long. Come in, come in! We're on a commercial break."

Without hesitation, George followed the familiar face into the studio.

"It's nice to have a permanent place, here. It's a lot less frightening than the hopping about with _Potterwatch_. I mean, the news isn't nearly as intense as it was then, and the setup isn't nearly as interesting, but I think we've got a fairly good station, here. The gear is certainly way more high-tech. At least we've got good humor and play better music than Celestina Warbeck, too…" Lee motioned around to a stack of floating records, all spinning on their own accord. The room was quaint, but comfortable. A desk lined the southern wall, topped by whirling buttons, scattered lists, and twisting levers. Five purple microphones dripped down above five chairs, only one of which was occupied by a snoozing witch.

"She does the night shift…" Lee explained. "She tends to hex like mad if you wake her up, so we just let her sleep here until she stirs and remembers to go home."

George was relieved at the amount of talking Lee did. Lee always had the gift of gab, and in his company conversations never seemed to grow stale or pained. Especially considering the social inhibitions George had attained recently, George was desperately grateful.

"So, what do you think?" Lee smiled, motioning to the setup.

"I think it's brilliant…" George answered truthfully. Lee smiled.

"Here- sit, sit…" Lee took the chair farthest to the left, and motioned for George to join beside him. Giant, Technicolor headphones landed on their laps out of nowhere.

"Care to partake in a bit of Live banter?" Lee pulled them over his ears, and although George was reluctant to partake in 'witty conversation', he was curious. Why not? What was the worse that could happen?

Lee pulled down a microphone, and George did the same. In his ears he could hear the last notes of a cheery jingle advertising the Bluebottle broomstick.

"Hello, hello WWN listeners." Lee's voice resounded with confidence. "You are tuned in to WWN station 106.3, where we bring you music, news, and exceptionally witty conversation 24/7! This is Lee Jordan- Here in the Mornin'! I'm here in the afternoon, too, but I'm afraid that just doesn't rhyme nearly as well. Anyway, enough about me. I am here with the King of Crazy, the Sultan of Silly, the one, the wacky, the only George Weasley, owner and founder of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Did I mention he's also one of my best mates from school, and that it was with him that I helped bring down some Death Eater scum? Say hello to the thousands of listeners, Georgie!"

"Um… hello…" George spoke hesitantly into the microphone. After Lee's slew of wonderful words, George felt a lot less nonchalant about participating on the radio show.

Lee gave him a light punch, and rolled his eyes. "Kneazel must have his tongue. Feeling a bit shy, George?"

"Er... Shy as a newborn unicorn, Lee. Although, I must say, it is probably due to your own wit of word. I simply cannot compare."

"Ah, I'm blushing, here, folks. So, George, tell us. What have you got in the workings of that wild, zany joke shop? Here at the studio, I have made sure that everyone is a huge fan of your crafty confections, illustrious illusions, and trippy tricks. Are you allowed to divulge any news on top-secret inventions; give us a sneak peek of what we can expect to find in upcoming times at the wonderful Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Ah… well… I'm afraid that information of that sort is all very top-secret. We do have some very intriguing ideas in the workings of the back room. I'm afraid that if I told you any more than that, I'd have to erase your memory, Lee. And all of your memories, too, if you're out there listening."

"Psht. Well, we'll see about that, George, we'll see about that. Anyway, while I attempt to weasel some tasty information of new products out of Mr. Weasley, we have a nice, long lineup of songs for you to tune in to. Here we go…"

Lee pointed his wand at several of the different records. Each, upon turn, turned a different, solid color, and began to spin in the opposite direction of before. George could hear loud, cheery chords pump through the earphones before he and Lee took them off.

"Well done, there, mate, well done." Lee snapped the earphones away. "But, I mean, really. You can tell me what you've got in the workings, right?"

George sat silent. It seemed fruitless to lie, and Lee had always been trustworthy.

"I haven't got anything in the workings, Lee," George admitted. Lee shot him a puzzled look.

"When you say that you 'haven't got anything', does that really mean you haven't got _anything_?"

George leaned onto the desk, and allowed his face to fall into his hands. "I can't think of anything, Lee. If I do get an idea, it seems stupid and pointless. We used up all our main store of inventions before the War, and after…"

Lee had grown concerned. "George, what's wrong?"

George found himself glancing at the slumbering witch. Were her dreams anywhere near as messed up as his? What was she dreaming of right now? She was probably having a normal dream, a dream where random, zany stuff happens and it all can be forgotten as soon as you wake. George would have killed to have pointless, weird dreams again… after he sorted out the ones he had, that was.

"George?" Lee iterated.

He let out a sigh.

He found himself spilling everything to his old friend. Well, _almost_ everything. He left out the somewhat big pieces that involved resurrecting Fred; in fact, he left out quite a deal about his fascination with the Stone. But George found himself gushing his frustrations with his dreams, his frustrations with Verity, and his frustrations with himself. Lee, usually the chatty one, listened with quiet intensity. George was filled with hope that maybe he had found someone who would actually understand…

When George had finished, Lee spoke, "George. He was your twin. I mean, nobody expected you to get over his death just like that. I don't think anybody expects you to ever fully get over it, you know? It's something monumental for you. I mean, Verity's right that dreams can clue us in to our realities. But… I don't think it's wise to obsess over them, or to dig through them for every tiny little link to Fred.

"You've just got to give it time, mate, and I know it's going to be tough, but you'll get used to it, you know? You just… can't dwell on it as you are, now. I don't think dwelling is helping. Speak his name aloud; talk about him. You've got to get used to the fact that he's not here anymore, and you have to keep your old memories of him alive."

By the time Lee was finished, George had grown quite somber. He had thought that maybe Lee of all people would understand. These dreams… they weren't just dreams. They were linking him to the only hope George had. Couldn't they see? He _had_ to dwell, he _had_ to dig, he _had_ to fight for every glimmer of Fred there still was.

Couldn't they see that he wasn't satisfied with just memories? He wasn't satisfied with 'getting over it'. He had to do more; he had to…

He had thought that maybe Lee of all people would help. But it seemed to George that Lee, like Verity, like Bill, like Percy, like everyone else, just didn't get it.

George glanced at his watch. He still had nearly an hour until he was due at the Burrow, but had no greater desire than to just get out of this claustrophobic, cramped studio.

"Yeah… you're right. I just… needed to spout it all out. Your advice really helped." George pretended to take it to heart. He knew from the uncomfortable look on Lee's face that his friend wasn't buying the façade. Thankfully, Lee didn't vocally allude to this. "Look, it's been great to see you, mate. We must get together more often. I've got to get to the Burrow; my Mum's expecting me around now."

"No problem, no problem. Tell her and the rest that I said hi." Lee nodded. Concern was still pouring from his eyes, which just annoyed George even more. "You'll come on air when you do start making new products, won't you?"

"Of course!" George exclaimed with a fake, cheesy smile. He was at the door, now. An awkwardness, almost as bad as the awkwardness during the Verity incident, filled the air once more. "Well… it was wonderful to see you, Lee."

"Take care, George." Lee bid him a sincere goodbye. "You know where to find me if you need me for anything- anything at all. I'm here for you, so keep in touch, okay?"

George nodded and waved before he could let out a frustrated scream. Closing the door perhaps a little too hastily on Lee's face, George found himself out on a dreary, snowy street side once more.

This time it was official. He couldn't count on anyone. George was alone in his thoughts, his mindset, his plans... George was completely and utterly alone.

* * *

((Bad News: It might be a little bit until I get the next chapter up here. Please don't hurt me. I just need a few days to fine-tune the events of the upcoming chapters. It's all been planned out since the start, but I need to play with the details a bit now that I'm actually immersed in writing it out. Good News: I fully intend on finishing this fic, which is a feat I rarely accomplish. So, regardless of how long it takes (which won't be too long, I promise), it will be done! Yay?! You all make my day...)) 


	8. Bad Conversations, Worse Confrontations

**Chapter Eight**

Bad Conversations and Worse Confrontations

"GEORGE! You're early!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. It was like déjà vu as George once again found himself the victim of one of his mother's gripping hugs.

"Yes, yes, I am early…" George begrudgingly admitted as he pried himself from her embrace. He wasn't exactly thrilled be so, either. He could only wonder what his mother had in store, especially since George knew not the full contents of Verity's letter to her. He was, without a doubt, filled with fear and dread concerning the awful conversation his Mother would soon brew up.

"You still look thin, I think."

"What does that have to do with me being early?"

"You look a bit peaky, too. Do you need some Pepperup Potion?"

"I feel absolutely _fine_, Mum."

"Well… I'll see about that as soon as you're inside. Come in and sit. I've made a nice little meal for tea!" George was shepherded into the kitchen, which was back to its normal size and décor.

As George sat down he realized that this may have been one of the few times of his life when he was actually totally alone with his mother. He was used to having endless family members acting as a protective cushion from her direct doting. He was used to having…

"Your shop assistant is simply a doll, George," Molly interrupted his train of thoughts. "Quite polite and cheery in her letter. She's the cute blonde, right?"

George nodded, reluctant to participate in the interrogation he felt coming. She set a tea kettle onto the table, and several plates of biscuits, tarts, sandwiches, and jams floated over to join it. Molly was now sitting opposite of him, her hands laced and eyes wide. George could hear her thoughts from a mile away.

"Now. Verity tells me that you're distracted. What's got your mind, dear?"

He had just gone through the story with Lee. George had _no_ intention of repeating that ordeal with his mother. He knew exactly what she'd say. She'd start to tear up and she'd give his hand a squeeze. She'd say that she missed Fred to death, too, but that there was nothing they could do to bring him back. Et cetera, et cetera… He didn't need to hear that. So… he lied.

"Well… it's just difficult to run the shop, you know? I mean, we've got another assistant, Chrysanthymum Treebrittle. But it's still hard, and I'm having trouble thinking up new stuff…" So it wasn't lying, exactly. It was just withholding most of the truth. Molly seemed to buy it. Her eyes flooded with concern.

"Oh, George," She sighed. Her face was lined with distress. "I know things must be so tough for you right now. But… I'm sure everything will sort itself out soon enough with the business. It always turns out good in the end. And you have wonderful help. Verity seems like a charming young woman, and… ooh…" Her eyes had grown wide. "You don't fancy her, do you? Cause _that_ could certainly make things distracting at work…"

George nearly choked on the bit of sandwich he was eating. Where on earth had his mother pulled _that_ bit from?! One moment she was playing concerned and worried; the next she was weeding through George's romantic entanglements!

"No, Mum, I do not fancy Verity!" He denied.

A smug smiled had wormed its way onto his mother's mouth, regardless. All sign of 'Emotional and Concerned Mum' was gone, replaced by the 'Seemingly and Annoyingly Omniscient' one. "Of course you don't, dear," She winked.

George pulled his eyes shut, wincing. A ball of squirming slugs had risen in the pit of his stomach. Things were difficult enough with Verity- the last thing he needed was his mother's interference. _Augh!_ This had to be some terrible, bizarre nightmare. On what planet had he ever imagined having such an awkward, stunted conversation with his mum?

_I'll eat five pounds of raw frog slime, face Chinese water torture, suffer the Cruciatus- __anything__ but this_, George pleaded in his mind. The gods of punishment must have been feeling extra cruel that day. When George opened his eyes, he was still in the Burrow's kitchen.

What else could he do but lie outright? "Mum, I do _not_ like Verity. I'm just overloaded at work, okay? Can you please drop it?"

"It was just a suggestion George. You don't need to get all fired up about it…" There was still too much of a knowing tint to Molly's tone for George to _not_ want to get fired up about it. "But if you're overloaded, I could always ask Ronald to help you out in his free time. I mean, they are staying in London, now. I've actually invited Ron to bring Hermione and Harry over this afternoon, too. I could ask him then; they should be here soon…"

Ron was coming with Hermione and Harry. Well. That changed _everything_.

Suddenly, George couldn't care less about what his mother had up her sleeve for his knotted love life. He didn't care that Verity had set him up for an afternoon of mother-son torture.

Harry was coming- Harry, who _had_ to know more about the Stone. George's mind began to race. He had to plan it out carefully; he had to catch Harry unawares, and catch him where Hermione couldn't shoot stifling looks.

George had been working on a game plan while he had studied the Stone; he had been waiting for the exact right moment to confront Harry again. But since he was coming here- now…

"I wouldn't want to worry Ron. He's got all that Auror training stuff going on…" All George had to do was get Molly off-topic and rambling so he could have time to think. "Tell me about Dad and everyone and the New Ministry. I haven't heard much since Christmas."

Like an expert fisherman casting into open water, George knew Molly would take the bait.

Her eyes lit up and George could just picture all the cogs and gears turning in her brain. When it came to talking about family news, Molly would never pass up an opportunity.

"Oh! Well, things are busy as ever, but according to Kingsley…" And she was off.

All George had to do was pretend to look interested, nod every now and then, give the occasional 'mhm', and his mother would be satisfied.

_Think, think, think_, he demanded his brain. How to catch Harry off guard?

"… and of course, they want Bill with them! But Fleur is due to have the baby so soon…"

How to say it? Direct confrontation? Some side-stepping? Get to him so fast that Harry has no time to censor his answers? Cast a silencing spell on Hermione and Ron?

"…my brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, you know, would have made a right laugh of it, but considering it was Percy…"

This was going to both difficult and interesting. If only he had some Veritaserum to slip in Harry's tea…

Both George's thoughts and Molly's chatter were interrupted as into the Burrow stamped a snowy trio.

"Ron! Harry! Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley glided over to the shivering group, assisting them with their traveling cloaks.

"So, what? You strangle _me_ with your death-grip hug, but not _them_?" George complained characteristically, earning an even more characteristic glare from his mother. Ron, Harry, and Hermione all gave big smiles of greeting. _That's it… everything is normal, I'm joking and funny- haha, now let's have a chat, Harry…_

"Sit, sit!" Mrs. Weasley was beckoning the group to the table. Hermione and Ron sat down side by side, but Harry did not.

"I think I'm going to use the bathroom real quick…"

The heavens must have been favoring George that day. This was just too, too convenient. He stood up.

"Where are you off to, George?" Molly quipped.

"I have to use the bathroom, too," George spoke, following Harry up the stairs. Ron looked confused, and Hermione looked as though she might just tackle George to keep him from doing so. But it was too late, Molly had already launched into interrogating them. George couldn't suppress a smug smile of triumph as he heard Hermione begin a frustrated account of her day so far.

As soon as George reached the door of the bathroom, it seemed Harry was leaving it. They nearly bumped into each other.

"Oh, er… hi, George."

"Listen, Harry," George didn't waste a moment. He'd try the polite, innocent approach first. "I've been having these wickedly weird dreams about the Elder Wand and you and… stuff, lately. Now, at Christmas you mentioned the Hallows, and it all sort of clicked. I've been researching the Hallows for any sign of a connection to my, er, dream, and I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about them?"

Harry's piercing green eyes had left their startled state, and were now becoming confidently defiant. "Like I said at Christmas, George, I don't know anything…"

Polite Innocent George left the building.

"Harry." George was surprised at how steely and panicked his voice sounded. "I may have only gotten 3 O.W.L.s, but I am not an idiot. I know you know more about the Hallows than you are letting on."

Harry let out a sigh. "Look… I'm really, really sorry. But, I just have this bad feeling about discussing them. I know you've been through a lot, but so has everyone else, and I just don't think that the Hallows will help. I mean, they didn't exactly help the Peverells the first time, did they? Two of them died early on because of them, and people have gotten so caught up in the supposed 'good points' to the Hallows that they don't realize just how powerful, and how dangerous they are."

Peverells.

Peverells, Peverells.

George had come across that name in his research a few times, but had skipped over it for the most part. If a section of text didn't directly involve the Stone, or the story of his dream, George had barely skimmed through. George realized now what a stupid, stupid thing that had been to do.

Perhaps he would have done just as poorly on his O.W.L.s even if he had studied as hard as he researched the Hallows.

Harry seemed to have realized that he had given George a piece of information he hadn't had before. He shot George a pleading look. "George, I am serious. I don't think that anything can be benefited from searching down all the Hallows. I don't think the Peverells would ever have created such items if they knew what trouble they would bring throughout history. Being a Master of Death isn't exactly what it's thought to be…"

George had basically tuned Harry out, just as he had done to his mother earlier. So they did exist. The Peverells, who he would have to do some more research upon, had really created these items. A wand, a cloak, and a stone… How could he have been so careless? He had only been focusing on the children's story's credentials. Had he researched the right way, he could have been saved from this awful, suspicious attack on Harry.

"The Peverells…" He found himself saying aloud. "Look, Harry, I know you think I'm mad, and maybe I am, but this is something I need to do. My dreams are pointing me towards it all, and I can't just ignore them. If you're not going to help me, then I am going to research this the right way this time. I'm going to figure it all out for myself."

"George…"

But George was already turning down the stairs, back into the kitchen.

"George, I've got a nice plate of cookies here," Molly called as soon as he was back down.

"Thanks, Mum, and thanks for the food and stuff. It's been nice talking. We should do this again sometime, but I just realized I forgot to finish something important back at the shop." He walked over to her, ignoring the searching eyes of Hermione and the sympathetic eyes of Ron.

George had grabbed his cloak and was out the door before you could say 'Quidditch'.

He was squeezing, churning, Apparating to his haven of the past few weeks: Flourish and Blotts.

* * *

By the time George had left the maze of shelves and stacks the book store had to offer, it was just past closing time. His new pile of research texts was floating behind him. He had gone for the Peverells this time, and he was certain that he would find out all he needed to hunt the Stone down in these new books.

As George approached 93 Diagon Alley, fully expecting to be alone, he noticed that the lights of the shop were still on. He stepped in to find Verity waiting at the counter.

Verity seemed to lack her usual flame. She was leaning limply by the register, her eyes dazed over as though her mind were someplace far, far away from here. Simply put, she looked exhausted. George knew how she felt. After this long day, which seemed to have lasted forever, he could hardly work up any anger towards her. He didn't want to work up any anger towards her…

She looked up when George entered, and for a moment there was a heavy silence. George didn't say anything, for fear that it would be the wrong thing to say.

Verity finally shook her head, and was the one to first speak. "I'm _sorry_, George." Her voice was an exasperated plea. She didn't really sound all too sorry, but George knew she was trying.

He let out a sigh. "Look, Verity. I'm sorry, too. I just have so much on my mind right now, and-"

"I'm taking the day off tomorrow." Verity interrupted him. "I need a break."

George didn't know what to say. "Well… sure, that's fine, I guess-"

"And we need to talk."

"Er… okay?"

"Look. I know you've got, like, a billion things spinning 'round that brain of yours. But will you please take the time tomorrow to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron? For lunch? We can talk then."

"So we're not going to talk now?"

"No, not now. Right now I need to sort out the things spinning 'round _my_ brain. Tomorrow. At twelve in the Leaky Cauldron?"

Verity was setting up a lunch date with George. Sure, it wasn't exactly a date, but still... George was caught quite off his guard. This could be his one chance to not screw things up- his one chance to set things right with her. It was all so sudden and random…

"Yeah, sure… twelve in the Leaky Cauldron."

"Good. Well, I'll see you then." Verity twirled on her blue cloak, and headed outside. She paused in the open doorway. For a second George almost hoped that she was going to run back inside, give him a hug, and everything would be back to normal between them. Normal as in: they wouldn't be fighting, George would fill her in on everything that was going on, and Verity would profess her undying love for him before helping him bring back Fred.

Instead, she spoke. "Oh, and by the way, George? I wouldn't assign Chrys to take care of the Pygmy Puffs tomorrow. They swarmed her hair today, and I think she's a bit scared of them, now."

"Ah… right."

And with that, Verity was gone and out the door. This time, George knew better than to follow her.

* * *

((Okay, so I'm going to be extremely busy these next few days. BUT… I am going to try with all my might to get up at _least_ one more chapter before I leave for vacation next week. Thank you all so much for sticking with me, here!)) 


	9. A Clash of Reality

((I had to rush a bit, sorry, but here is the next chapter! Only about 3-4 more chapters to go after this! The action will all start soon, I promise. I also promise to put more up as soon as I get back from vacation! Your reviews continue to make my days; I thank you all _so much _for your time and attention and feedback. You all really make me feel like it's worth it, writing and all…))

**Chapter Nine**

A Clash of Reality

_A flash of the stone. A flash of an old, weathered hand. Those were gone._

_George found himself following the other twins once more. Down the wood towards the small house… He knew better now than to think that their laughs were his and Fred's. He knew now that it was not them. And yet… this dream still felt foreign to him._

_They seemed to reach the porch much quicker, and this time George's disappointment did not wake him up. George followed them inside. The small house was dimly lit, and faces were shrouded in shadows. The main source of light came from a silvery Patronus that was just fading away. He couldn't make out its shape, but it looked familiar…_

_Then the dream began to change like rapid fire. _

_There was a familiar woman, but he couldn't make her out…_

_Two small boys entering a foreboding treeline..._

_Two teenage twins laughing alongside a lake..._

_One of the men, one of the twins, walked in a forest alone. He held something in his hand. The trees were tall and old, but he seemed to be following a familiar path. A tree with a face-sized knot. A birch with a lowered limb. A thick bush... _

_Time to wake up._

* * *

All morning George had been running through the new additions to his dream. Of course, his musings had been hindered by the fact that he actually had to work in the shop, today. He had woken, remembering with a pang that Verity was taking the day off. George was now stuck to manage to the shop and guide the new employee, when all he really wanted to do was hide in the back room and research the Peverells. 

"Mr. Weasley, which drawer should I put the receipts in again?" Chrys asked for the second time that morning.

"Bottom right," George replied. The store was unusually vacant that morning. That fact should have offered George more time and room to ponder his dreams, but instead, and oddly enough, it distracted him. It was as though things were unsettled, unresolved. There was no familiarity to this day, just as his nightly adventures became more and more foreign. His day-to-day life was becoming, if at all possible, more complicated that of his dreams.

George let out a sigh.

Attempting conversation with Chrys was fruitless. He had tried earlier in the morning, only to be met with stammers and confused drabble. For a moment George had wondered why on earth Verity had selected someone so seemingly incompetent to join their staff, but then realized that Chrys was probably still recovering from his own odd, rude behavior.

The twins… the house… trees…

His brain was so tired of searching for answers in his dreams that it hurt to try and make sense of it. The smoke inside the Dreamseeker, that he kept in his pocket, had been lazing about, the palest of blues all morning.

"Mr. Weasley?" Chrys timidly interrupted his train of thought once more. He turned to face her. "Um… just a question, but where should I put this order of candy ingredients?"

Where to put the order of candy ingredients… Order of… The corner of George's eye caught sight of the Dreamseeker. The smoke had turned the color of midnight, and was careening about the orb like an angry ocean.

It all came to George within an instant. The dream. The twins. In the house, there had been a Patronus fading away. A Patronus he had seen before. It had been… it had been a Patronus he had seen produced by none other than Mad Eye Moody, for the Order. The Order of the Phoenix.

"The Order! Chrys, you are a genius!" George exclaimed, clapping her on the shoulder with enthusiasm!

"Er… excuse me?"

His blood was racing. For the first time in a while, he had actually figured out something from his dreams, thanks to Chrys!

The twins of his dream had been in the Order. The woman who had appeared in later flashes of the dream looked familiar because it was… Realization hit like a train. He had witnessed in his dream a glimpse of his mother, when she was younger.

Of course, of course. It was all making sense.

Molly's brothers had been twins. Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They had been members of the original Order! But if they were in his dreams, along with the Resurrection Stone, did that mean that there was a connection between the Prewetts and the Stone?

George didn't waste a second. He knew exactly what he had to do. Chrys remained standing, nearly looking petrified, clutching onto the candy order papers like she was clutching onto sanity. Wondering just how crazy he looked, but not really caring, George grabbed his cloak.

"Just set the order on the counter- I'll take care of it later! I have to run out for a bit, so do you think you can manage the store on your own for a bit?"

"Me?!"

"It's not busy at all! I believe in you Chrys! I feel a bonus in it for you, as well!"

"But, Mr. Weasley, it's only my third day here!"

"If there's an emergency just contact me by Floo. I'll be at my mother's- at the Burrow."

* * *

George found himself pounding on the door of the Burrow with an unexpected fervor. The prospect that the Stone could be linked with his own family was one that excited him and filled him with a hope that no realization had before. That had to be why they were in the same dream, right? 

Gideon and Fabian were gone, he knew, but there remained one who might be able to give him some sort of clue, make some sort of connection. That person was his mother.

A frazzled Mrs. Weasley answered the door with hesitancy. "George? Is that you?"

George beat her to the hug this time, taking his mother by surprise. She patted him on the back, and when he let her go, a smile was on her face.

"I didn't expect you back so soon, George! What a pleasant surprise!" Molly cheered.

"Well, I felt bad about leaving early yesterday, and I have a few things I wanted to ask you about." George enthused. His mother was starting to scrutinize him, but he guessed she thought better of it, today. Instead, she invited him in.

"I haven't prepared anything near as nice as yesterday, but I'll make us some tea."

"That sounds lovely. I hope I didn't interrupt you or anything?"

"No, no. I was just sorting through some old boxes in the attic. The ghoul made a mess of half of them…" Molly sat across from him once more. "Now, what's got you so eager to visit your crazy Mother for two days in a row? You've got this very anxious spark to your eyes…"

"I was actually hoping you could tell me about Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

If Molly had been surprised before by his sudden, and happy, appearance, it was nothing compared to the inquisitive amazement that she now had.

"_Really_? My brothers? That's quite… random of you, George."

He shrugged and nodded. "Well? Are you willing to tell me about them?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry- it's just that they were the last thing I thought you'd come here to talk about." Molly was still slightly bewildered, but was on the recovery. She waved her wand and hot, steaming tea filled their empty cups. "What would you like to know?"

George gave a slight smile. "As much as I possibly can."

"Might I ask _why_?" She inquired.

"I was just curious. You mentioned them yesterday, and I just got to thinking that I never really got to know them or anything." George's answers were ready-made, and Mother-Approved.

Molly smiled. "Well… where to start? Gideon and Fabian were twins, obviously, just like you and… Fred. You two always reminded me of them, only a bit more extreme, I suppose. Gideon and Fabian always enjoyed their laughs, they did, and were quite the daredevils.

"I remember Fabian telling me that their first week in Hogwarts they managed to sneak out to a tree stump in the Forbidden Forest on a dare. They got caught by the caretaker back then, I believe. Apollyon Pringle. Served detention for half their first year, but they still managed to keep up their grades and a respectable reputation.

"They really were quite brilliant. They joined the first Order, you know? I was busy with my family then, your older brothers were still quite young, but they joined the fight against You-Know-Who. They were killed together by Antonin Dolohov. They were such wonderful young men, among the bravest. But… well… when in war, sometimes things we never expect to happen do…"

She trailed off, beginning to choke up a bit. George caught her eyeing the spot on his head where his second ear should have been, knowing that it wasn't his ear that she was thinking about. Before she could talk about Fred, or cry any more, George tried a new approach.

"Did they ever mention anything about… well… any rare magical items of any kind?"

"Not that I know of…" Molly warmed to this distraction. George's heart dipped with disappointment. But he still had hope…

"Tell me more about their adventures; stories about them… They sound like great people."

"They were. I wish you could have known your uncles, George…"

_I do too, more than you could know, Mum…_ he thought.

Molly tilted her head back in thought. "Adventures and stories… Well. There was this one time when your uncles had a great escape from the clutches of Rodolphus Lestrange…"

George listened to story after story, tale after tale of the uncles he had never known. He picked through each one silently and meticulously, looking for any possible connection the Prewett brothers could have had to the Stone of Resurrection. Although he enjoyed getting to know them through Molly's reminiscing, and his mother was kept at bay from falling into a weepy, sad mood, George's hope was soon chipped away, bit by bit.

There didn't seem to be any connection between Gideon and Fabian Prewett and the Stone at all.

At last, George felt his stomach rumble.

"Oh, look at the time!" Molly exclaimed after finishing a telling of the time her brothers first got her to fly on a broom. "It's nearly one in the afternoon! And all we've had was tea! You must be starving! What kind of mother am I, not feeding her son past bursting?"

"Don't worry about it, it's no pro-" But George froze mid-sentence. One in the afternoon. It was one in the afternoon, and he was at his mother's listening to pieces of family history.

His lunch date with Verity had been set for twelve.

"I've got to go. Now." George spoke. A deadly, lurching feeling had settled in; he felt as though he were on a boat battling a fearsome storm of waves. He was late. He was late for his one chance to set things right with Verity.

Molly looked startled once more. "Where? Why?"

"I am really, really late for something really, really important. I've got to Apparate there right away." He gave his mom a quick hug and pictured the Leaky Cauldron in his mind…

Verity was sitting at a round table near the entrance, alone. If at all possible, she looked even less happy to see him than she had the day prior. Her brows were furrowed and her eyes were boring into him like a thousand knives. Her mouth was set into a thin, taut scowl.

"Well. Look who turned up at last. I was just getting ready to leave." She seared. "Alarm caught your bad ear, again, did it? Or another dream? Do your dreams come in epics now, because I think you overslept your usual wakeup time by quite a _huge_ margin."

"Verity- I am _so sorry_. I was at my mother's and I lost track of-"

"I don't want to hear it, George!" She was near shouting, now. They had gained the attention of some of the other customers. Even Tom was eyeing them carefully. George's face began to flush with embarrassment he knew he may have deserved. "You know, back around Christmas I almost thought that you… cared! And I _almost_ started to care back! Well, you know what? I'm glad you've been acting like a complete git lately, because you have proved time and time again that you cannot be relied on! I'm glad I found out sooner rather than later!"

Each word made George cringe. "Verity…"

"No. You get no say. I'm the one who's been running the shop day in and day out. I'm the one who's been waiting for an hour to talk. I thought we might be able to sort things through today, but I can see that I'm just not high on your list of ever-so-important priorities!"

"Verity…"

"Oh, and just so you know? That precious Dreamseeker of yours that I made you? I charmed it to swirl when you want it to. Only when _you_ think you're onto something will it start to go. It's got nothing to do with fate or your dreams at all. So, you can't even use it as an excuse for your actions, lately!"

That definitely cut George deep. Instinctively he reached for the smooth, round object in his pocket. Had it really been fooling him this whole time? Had it really just been himself?

Verity wasn't over with him yet. "Well, I hope you had fun at your mother's. I'm sure you had a very _dire_ reason to miss our plans for her."

"Verity, I'm _sorry_! Stay. We can talk now! I am so sorry; just stay- please!"

"I took the day off, remember? If you thought I was going to spend all afternoon here with you, you were sadly mistaken! I've got other things to do. I will see you tomorrow at work, Mr. Weasley."

And she stormed past him, out onto the street of the Muggle world. The other diners returned to their own conversations and meals. George remained standing, shell-shocked near the entrance, the echoes of her words still ringing in his ears.

"Could have been worse…" Tom offered with a shrug.

George doubted that it could have been. The hollow gap in his heart had widened.

Well.

That was that, then, wasn't it? He now stood absolutely no chance with Verity. And he still hadn't found a connection between the Prewetts and the Stone. _And _the Dreamseeker had been a fraud the whole time.

He felt quite betrayed by the small object, betrayed by his own mind. George's shoulders sank. The numbness was back.

_No._

He _would_ find out the connection between the Prewetts and the Stone. It wasn't looking likely as of yet, but he had a nice pile of books waiting for him back at the shop. The Prewetts, the Peverells, the Hallows, and the Stone. It all seemed so much, but he couldn't just give up. He couldn't just quit now- not after all he'd done. So what if his reality was clashing with his dreams?

He _would_ find the Stone. He _would_ solve his dreams. He would solve his reality, eventually, too. He just had to keep steady and strong, and not let anyone or anything get in his way. That was it. He had to keep up his quest for the stone, and ignore everything else until he had his brother back. That was what he should do, right?

_...Fred, I need you…_


	10. Close and Far

**Chapter Ten**

Close and Far

_He was following the twin into the woods again._

_Although George had seen this before, there was still an alien feel to the dream. _

_The lonely twin clutched something in his hand, but George couldn't make it out. The trees were tall and old, but the Prewett twin seemed to be following a familiar path. George craved for more, something more to the dream than Gideon or Fabian taking a stroll. He was fully aware that this was a dream, and was half-tempted to wake himself up if nothing more helpful was depicted._

_A tree with a face-sized knot. _

_Suddenly, another image was interspersed with this dream. It was the Stone. __The stone flashed up for a mere second._

_A birch with a lowered limb. _

_An old, weathered hand. It was damaged, black, burnt he noticed now…_

_A thick bush._

_A white, marble tomb…_

_The twin was moving on, moving towards a gnarled, twisted tree stump. He was stopping. Was this important at all?! What did this have anything to do with-_

_A final, angry flash revealed an image. A shiny, round object- gold with limply fluttering wings. A snitch._

_George felt the world of sleep rushing away from under him…_

* * *

George woke up. Things had suddenly snapped into place. 

Of course…

He hadn't paid much attention to the beginning flashes of his previous dreams. An old, weathered hand- a withered hand, really… Dumbledore's withered hand before he died. Seeing the tomb in this dream had finally clued him onto that. Dumbledore had had the Stone. He had worn it as a ring.

George could now picture it perfectly in his mind. To think… the Stone had been right there. If only he had known before; if only he could go back in time and…

Well. What a silly idea. If he were capable of going back in time, he could just as easily save Fred as he could get the Stone off of Dumbledore.

But of course, that didn't matter. The last image of his dream had given him the final answer, the answer that a certain person had not relinquished.

The snitch. Two summers past, on Harry Potter's seventeenth birthday, he had passed around a table a snitch that would not open. Nearly every member of the Weasley family had held it between their hands, had marveled at why on earth Albus Dumbledore would leave his prodigal boy such a perplexing gift. It seemed obvious now; the snitch was just large enough to enclose the Stone.

George had held it in his hands. He had held the Stone, cased within a few inches of gold, in his very own hands.

He continued to piece it all together... So Harry had received the Stone. What was it he had said to Ginny on Christmas Eve?

_"…That and the fact that he never had control of the Elder Wand, or any of the other Hallows…" _

It was Harry who won the wand. Harry owned that Invisibility Cloak. Now, George knew, he also had been in possesion of the Stone.

Harry had been the Master of the Deathly Hallows, and it was Harry who knew where, at this very moment even, the Stone of Resurrection could be found.

At this point, George didn't even stop to wonder why his dreams hadn't revealed this to him sooner. Nor did he even stop to blink at the other pieces of his dreams, the pieces where the Prewetts seemed to be irrelevantly placed. George did not even stop to glance at either clock.

George simply dressed as quickly as he could. His entire body was near rigid at the fact that he was closer than ever to getting Fred back. His mind thought of nothing else than what he had to do to get the Stone.

_I am so close…_

That scene was playing through his mind over and over. He held the Stone in his hands and Fred would appear…

It was really happening. He was really going to bring back Fred!

All he had to do was get through Potter.

He was rushing down the stairs madly. The shop already had customers, which meant that he was, indeed, late once more. It didn't matter. It didn't matter that Chrys nearly ducked behind a tower of packages for fear of him, or that Verity glowered behind the register, intent on ignoring him completely.

His moody gloom from yesterday's events didn't even remain as a shadow on his mind. He had one goal and one goal only; nothing else mattered.

"I'll be back!" He knew his voice sounded oddly cheery, not quite spot on. The tangle of excitement and nerves- the joy, the fear- was playing with his vocal chords. As he trotted out of the shop he noticed his hands trembling with eagerness. Or perhaps it was the cold? He had forgotten his traveling cloak, but it didn't matter.

The assurance of the future filled him with embers of confidence. He was warmed by his visions of Fred by his side once more… His heart almost felt like it had its other half back, already.

But he wasn't a fool. He knew there was one, huge obstacle standing in his way yet. He had to get Harry to tell him where the Stone was. Harry had to cave in, first… He began to grow itchy with nerves.

George found himself Apparating- found himself standing at the steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

He didn't want to bother with the heavy knocker, but what else could he do?

Perhaps it was just luck, or George liked to think that it was the same force of destiny that guided his dreams, but Harry Potter was, in fact, home that morning and answered the door. And, apparently, he was alone. Now Hermione to silence Harry, no Ron to distract him...

"George?" It wasn't a very welcoming greeting.

George found himself shooting past Harry into the warmth of the former Order headquarters. For a second he glanced around; it seemed like a completely different place from the Grimmauld Place he used to know. The floors were shining, and neither dust fleck or spider web clung to the wall. It held a dark quality that it would probably never escape, but it was spick and span. Kreacher had certainly done a job with this place…

George recovered within seconds, and faced Harry. "You need to tell me about the Resurrection Stone."

Harry's brows furrowed.

"George," He began. "I've already told you that the Hallows-"

"I don't care about the _Hallows_!" George cried. "I could care less about being a Master of Death, if that's what you think I am chasing down. The only thing I care about is using the Resurrection Stone to get my twin back!"

Harry looked as though he had been hit by a surprise surge of that electricity stuff that Muggles used. He had frozen; his eyes were opening behind his glasses in some understanding. Before Harry could utter a word, George spoke once more, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Harry…" He pleaded. "You don't know what it's like. It's like… my other half is gone. It's like half of me is missing. It hurts every time I look in the mirror- heck, it hurts nearly every moment of every day. I had to go about numbing my entire personality just to keep it at bay! And then I've been having these dreams, and they've been pointing me to the Stone, and it's the one jewel of hope I have left to cling to.

"I _need_ him back, Harry." George was begging, now. He would fall onto his knees if he had to. He didn't care how crazy he looked. He didn't care if he had to bawl like a baby before Harry cracked. He needed Harry to give him real answers, this time. "I _need_ him, and I know that you know how to get to that Stone."

Harry was silent for a moment. George had struck gold, he was sure. Harry's eyes were filled with sympathy, with a tired, painful comprehension. George was too afraid to take a breath until Harry would say something, anything. He was afraid that even the smallest movement of particles in the air would somehow alter Harry's decision.

Thankfully, Harry did speak, before George fainted due to lack of oxygen, as well.

"I know, George…" Harry sighed. "Dumbledore gave it to me so that I could talk to my parents before I had to sacrifice myself to Voldemort."

George was bewildered, and not because Harry had sacrificed himself or whatever, either. "You _used_ it? You actually got it to work? What was it like?"

Harry shook his head. "It isn't what you think, George. I spoke to them, and Sirius, and Lupin. They were there for me when I needed them, but they weren't… back, you know? No one but me could see or hear them, and they weren't quite solid or ghostly, either…"

"I don't care." George shrugged. The enormity of this conversation, of what it meant, was taking over him. He didn't care what they were like- he just needed Fred back. Besides… _he_ wasn't going to 'die'. Maybe that's why they had only come back partially for Harry, because he had been preparing himself for death. He was sure Fred would come back properly for him… He had to, right?

"Dumbledore couldn't get it to work right." Harry was continuing. "I… I turned it three times over my hand, and they came. I'm not sure if that's really the right way to do it, but it worked for me."

"Why wouldn't you talk to me before? Why wouldn't you tell me this before?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to leave it, so that no one could unite the Hallows again. And I… well, I was expecting you to ask sooner or later after Christmas Eve. But I figured if I avoided you, I could stop you from obsessing over it. I can see that it accomplished just the opposite." Harry was eyeing George cautiously. "You don't look well George."

George shook it off. So what if he was a little thinner, if his eyes were a little ringed and tired? Obsessed… Verity had used that word. Lee had, too. Back then he had preferred 'determined', but now he could admit it. He was obsessed- obsessed with bringing his twin back. It didn't matter. After Fred was back, everything would be okay again, so it was all right to obsess a little, wasn't it?

_Who cares?_ He thought. I'm too far in now. _I am too close, and nothing can stop me from bringing Fred back…_

"Harry, I need to know where it is." George pressed.

At this, Harry looked sheepishly at the ground. "Remember when Hagrid brought me out at the Battle and you all thought I was dead?"

"Yes."

"I was in the forest near there. I was where Voldemort and the Death Eaters had set up camp in there. I dropped it before I got there."

"You mean…?"

"It's somewhere in the forest."

George's stomach gave a dip. In the Forbidden Forest. The Forest was huge.

_Is that really going to hold you back from getting your brother?_ A voice inside him demanded. _Pathetic!_

The voice was right. He would search every inch of the Forest if he needed to- even if it took years. He prayed it wouldn't; his desperation would kill him by then. But, nothing was too much to bring back Fred…

He told Harry this.

Harry cast him a weary, pleading glance. "George… please. Don't get pulled in too far to this. If you don't find it, or it doesn't work, or…"

"I _will_ find it and it _will_ work." George had no doubts at all.

"George… I know this may sound dumb, but… When you go looking for the Stone, and even if you find it? Please, just, don't do anything stupid. Don't broadcast it out to people. Be careful and be smart about it all, okay? …Loosing one Weasley twin is awful enough."

Did Harry seriously think he was going to kill himself like that bloke from the story? George shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't I know it… And yes, I promise, whatever, whatever…"

Harry almost smiled. Almost. George had made his way back to the door. He had one or two more things he had to do…

"And George?" Harry caught him before he could escape.

"Yes, Harry?"

"If… well, if you do see Fred, could you let him know we all miss him, too?"

George felt his throat tighten. It was really happening, wasn't it? He was going to see his twin again. The fact that even Harry was acknowledging this only bolstered his anticipation. He nodded, and was off.

With each pulse, each breath, George's excitement grew. It was really happening. He was so close; he could practically hear his brother's laughing voice again.

He stopped for quick lunch at some café. He couldn't even remember what he was eating; his mind was so far off. He found himself wandering Diagon Alley, much like a few mornings ago. This time his mind was focused, and was racing so much that nothing else registered. His mind was filled with memories of Fred; it was eager and starved for memories they would soon make together.

When he finally made his way back to the shop, it was nearly evening. The shop was empty except for his two assistants.

Verity met him in a blank tone, "I'm taking tomorrow off, too."

"Sure, sure!" George knew he should probably be a little less… happy around her. But he couldn't help it. Thoughts of Fred and the Stone now controlled his every move. Verity simply scowled before slamming the door shut behind her. It wasn't quite closing time yet, but George didn't stop her from leaving. Instead, he faced Chrys.

"I'm actually taking the day off tomorrow, as well."

Chrys's eyes widened. "Wait, but then who…?"

"You, of course." George answered. "It's been slow lately, and I think you are more than capable of handling it. If there is an emergency, you'll be able to contact me. I'll even throw in a bonus or something."

"Mr. Weasley, I just don't feel comfortable-"

"You are a lifesaver Chrys! You can leave early tonight, too, if you'd like. I think I'm going to close up now. I hope you have a lovely evening!"

Chrys didn't need telling twice. She shut her mouth and averted her nervous eyes before tracing Verity's steps out the door.

A smile was plastered onto George's face. He spent the remainder of his evening composing a letter to one Minerva McGonnagal.

_"I'd like to ask your permission to visit the grounds tomorrow morning around 9…" _Yes, she'd like that. A Weasley twin asking permission… Who would have ever thought?

_"I need some closure to my brother's death, and I feel visiting the place where he fell would…"_ Closure- as in, his brother's death will be closed after he found the Stone. George would reopen the door to Fred's life.

_"Promise I won't be a bother… I also wanted to thank you for all your guidance and support throughout our years…"_ That might be a bit much. He'd better scratch that last bit. Good old Minerva had never been one for excessive flattery.

He settled for a postscript he thought summed it up, instead. "_P.S. I wanted to formally apologize for the mayhem we caused when we were students; especially when we used your one tartan hat as a carrier explosive of Dung Bombs our Second Year. Anything I can do to replace damage we caused over the years would be a pleasure."_ Tartan: her weak spot.

He filled in a few more sentences, checked his spelling, and sent it off via Post Owl to Hogwarts. If all went as planned, Fred would be back in less than 24 hours from now.

It was thrilling to know how close he was. His mind, his body, his soul had all been tortured these past months- especially this last one. To think he was solving his dreams, repairing all his less physical wounds in less than 24 hours…

He wanted to laugh. At Harry. At his mother. At Percy and Bill and Charlie. At Lee. At Verity. They were all about to be proven wrong. His obsession wouldn't be fruitless. They would love him, adore him, and thank him for bringing Fred back.

More importantly than gaining satisfaction, Fred would just be back. He would be George's magic cure-all… George would be able to face living the right way again- without numbness, without obsession, without pain…

George laid in bed, in the dark, for what seemed like hours. His mind was busy, and his blood was anxious. He was itching with nerves, anticipation, excitement, joy…

And as George finally drifted off to sleep that night, he knew that he was so close to solving it all. So, so close. The only question was… how much farther did he have to go? He decided it didn't matter. He would go as far as he could until Fred was here with him once more…

((Okay- we are back in business! We're getting near the end here, folks! It is also back-to-school time, which means I am in a flurry of last-minute summer essays, so I cannot guarantee daily updates. However, I definitely plan to finish this before the school year begins- so within these next two weeks. I'm interested to know what you all think is going to happen, if you guys are picking up on my awfully placed clues or not… Anyways, your reviews continuously boost my morale, and yet again, I thank you!!))


	11. The Stone of Resurrection

((Two more chapters to go. More will come, and _soon_, I promise, promise. Thank you all for being wonderful readers. I've had this all planned out since the beginning, so I pray that you will not wish to subject me to painful death of being trampled by centaurs.))

**Chapter Eleven**

The Stone of Resurrection

_He was following the twin into the woods again._

_George had seen this before._

_The lonely twin clutched something in his hand. The trees were tall and old, but he seemed to be following a familiar path._

_George knew he was dreaming, once more. He was annoyed. He had already figured it out, hadn't he? Why was he being bothered by this Prewett twin?_

_A tree with a face-sized knot. _

"_I don't care about this!" He yelled as loud as he could into the dream world. The Prewett twin neither stopped nor turned to acknowledge him; it was as though he had made no sound at all._

_A birch with a lowered limb._

"_I only care about the Stone!" George cried. "I only care about Fred!" _

_A thick bush._

_George would have no more. He forced himself to wake up._

* * *

George's lids were light, and he found himself surprisingly alive as he woke that morning. It was early today, he could tell. The light that leaked in from under the shutters was gentle and tentative; as though at slightest scare the sun itself might scamper back to the other side of the world. 

This particular morning, George Weasley found himself not only looking at the two clocks that hung on either sides of the walls, but staring intensely at both.

The 'Bad' Clock, with one face pointing at 'Here', and the other still at 'Dead', was oddly transfixing. George could picture the latter hand moving, chasing the edge of the circular clock before landing right beside his own- at 'Here'.

The 'Good' Clock was just as hypnotizing. For, as George soon found out, it was still quite an early hour of the morning. George had not woken this early in nearly a month; he had not woken this early since his nightmare of Fred's death had stopped.

_Funny_, he thought, _how soon it will be just that._ Soon, all Fred's death would be was a nightmare of his past.

He had only received a few hours sleep, and yet… His exhaustion somehow seemed to heighten his sense of awareness. He was attuned to his heartbeat, steady and rhythmic like the pulse of a bass. He could almost feel the blood coursing through his veins, red and fired by his anticipation. Each breath of air he received was heavy and luscious.

Before, those vital signs of his had been ignored, and feared… They had caused him pain. His nightmares had been haunted by them. Now? Now they held a mysterious, miraculous quality. Now that he knew his brother would experience them, too… his own heartbeat, his pulse, his lungs were suddenly more than tolerable.

It took George quite a few moments after he first awoke to notice the owl. It was sitting on his dresser, eyeing him with a dark scrutiny. Who knows how long it had been waiting there for him? Now that George had acknowledged it, the large, mahogany-winged bird flew over to him beside his bed, and dropped a letter.

George didn't need to see the Hogwarts seal to know who it was from. Hastily, he tore open the envelope to read the reply.

"… _You have my condolences for your loss; both you and your brother fought heroically… As long as I have your promise to stay out of trouble, I see no reason to deny your request… Hagrid will be waiting at the gates… P.S. As long as you don't invent some tartan-eating chewing gum or something of the sort, we'll call it even, Mr. Weasley._"

A smile was plastered onto George's face. A nervous, giddy fluttering filled his heart. This was it, then. He had permission.

What was he sitting around _waiting_ for?

He got dressed; got ready. He paused once in front of the mirror. He was almost expecting to see Fred there, already, staring back at him with a grin. All he saw in his reflection was himself: with one missing ear, eyes atop purple circles, a thin, gaunt face, and tangled, matted ginger hair. He hardly felt how he looked… So he left the mirror as quickly as possible. Even though Fred would be back soon, perhaps he still wasn't ready to face the mirror just yet…

* * *

It was shortly later that George found himself standing on the porch of the Hog's Head Inn. Fewer people would recognize him if he Apparated here, and, with any luck, Aberforth would be in the back feeding his goats or something of the sort. 

With Hogwarts being so tight in security, even without You-Know-Who's presence, he had decided on walking up to the gates from the wizarding village. At the very least, he would be used to the cold by the time he started searching the Forbidden Forest.

It had started to snow in thick, heavy flakes. Although the snow from previous weeks had already melted away here, this new wave of white was starting to stick to the ground. It wasn't the best weather for searching for fallen stones, but George would sooner die than return before trying.

He wrapped his warm, traveling cloak tighter around him as he traipsed down High Street. Already The Three Broomsticks had a glow emanating from its windows. Customers were probably lined up at Rosmerta's counter for a Butterbeer before daring the frosty air.

Delicious smells were wafting from Honeyduke's, and outside of Zonko's… Something caught his eye. Or rather, some_one_. A familiar, pale blue cloak was making its way opposite him, to the joke shop.

"Verity?" He called out before he could stop himself. The familiar figure whirled around. Her face was blurred by the snow and short distance, but there was no mistaking it. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"_George_?" Verity sounded terrified. "What are _you_ doing here?"

As he took a step closer, he could see a quizzical, guilty look in her eyes. George wasn't sure he wanted to know what she was doing here, anymore.

"I'm going up to the castle." He said. His voice, once again, had that frighteningly cheery tone to it. He couldn't help it. "Last respects to Fred. You?"

"I…" She paused, a curious glint still to her eyes, and let out a sigh. "I'm interviewing for a job here at Zonko's. That's why I took the day off. And two days ago I was at Gambol and Jape's."

"Ah." Was it just George, or was the wind suddenly a bit icier? So. Verity was leaving the shop. George wanted to be upset. He wanted to be angry, hurt, and sad. But… he had a quest. Fred and that Stone were the number one priorities right now. He didn't have time to be hurt by Verity. "Well… good luck with your interview then. Let me know when you plan your last day to be, so I can sort it all out financially and stuff. I'll see you later."

With that, he continued to tread down High Street, finding the path to Hogwarts. He didn't stop to think about Verity more than once as he made his way to the gates. And even then, it was more of a word really. A word she had called him, once. '_Obsessed_'…

He put it out of his mind.

Fred would be here soon enough. Fred would set things right.

The familiar great gates appeared soon enough- tall, stately, and flanked by winged boars. The castle was just a ways away; all damage from the final battle had been repaired. All damage but damage of the heart…

Hagrid was waiting for him, Fang with his wagging tail beside him.

"George Weasley!" He cried, opening the gates. A huge hand clasped George on the back; all he could do was pat Hagrid gingerly in return. "When McGonagall told me yeh'd be back, I couldn' believe it!"

George put on the most somber face he could. "Well… I just needed to come back to say one last goodbye, you know?" It should have felt more wrong, lying to Hagrid, but it didn't. "But there is something you can help me with."

"Anything yeh'd like, George." Hagrid was sincere.

"Can you point out to me the spot of the Forest where you came out with Harry? You know, when we all thought he was dead and you carried him back?"

Hagrid shot him a puzzled look. "Er… why?"

"Because I need to go into the Forest there. Alone, too."

"Are yeh insane, George?! At least let me come with yeh!" Hagrid cried.

"Look," George's voice returned to the crazy, begging tone he had used with Harry the day before. "I need to do something for Fred. It involves the Forbidden Forest, and I need to do this alone. _Please_, Hagrid. You said you'd help me with anything."

Hagrid rustled in thought. George could tell he was uncomfortable. He had to be a bit more persuasive...

"If I'm not out of there by, say, noon for lunch, you can come in and get me out. But I am capable of handling anything that's in there. The centaurs are all right now; I'm going nowhere near those Acromantulas. I will be fine, Hagrid, and I _need_ to do this."

Luckily for George, Hagrid's breaking point wasn't even close to Harry's- and even _that_ hadn't been very hard to reach.

Hagrid sighed. "Fine. But if you're not outta there before twelve, I'm comin' in."

"So will you take me to that spot?"

Hagrid obliged. It was not too far from the steps and the Great Hall. The line of trees loomed ominously. George had the distinct feeling that he was about to enter a complete other world.

"Well," he turned to Hagrid. "Thank you. I'll be okay, I promise."

"Yeh'd better be," grumbled Hagrid, "Or McGonagall might kill me."

George inhaled a deep breath, and got his wand out and ready, before plunging into the forest.

It was dark. Even if clouds hadn't been shielding the sun, George was positive it would have been dark. The trees were bare, but layer after layer of branches seemed to catch the snow; the ground was hard, but the only a dusting of white crystals had reached it. That was good; it would be much easier to find the stone.

His breath was visible, a small cloud of air poofing out of his mouth before disappearing. George was following no path in particular, but his eyes scanned the ground like a falcon's. Every so often he would come across a pebble or rock lying in the underbrush, but they each lacked the symbol of the Hallows. George noticed that the ground was ridden with centaur hoof-prints; he recalled how they had come to the rescue in the final part of battle. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to keep walking. He had just barely entered the Forest, it seemed…

When George glanced up from the ground, just for a mere second, he saw something that took him by surprise. It was not the Stone, nor was it some angry Acromantula. No… he had glanced up and seen a tree.

This particular tree had a huge knot in its trunk, nearly the size of George's own face.

It was a tree from his dream with the Prewett twin. The one who walked all alone in the forest… Could it really be that same tree? Had the twin really been in the Forbidden Forest?

There was only one way to find out. George stumbled ahead, trying his best to recall the path that Gideon or Fabian had once taken. Sure enough, just a bit ahead was a birch tree. One of its limbs was bowed to the ground.

George picked up his pace. Was it really going to be this easy? Had his dreams really, at last, provided him with all the answers? He had planned on spending an entire day searching for the Stone, but would his dreams get him there sooner?

He was nearly jogging now, following the path of his mind. His head was hurting, as he fought hard to picture the exact way the twin had walked.

There it was: the thick, wiry bush. George had only seen one more mark- and he had only seen it once. After going a little further, George had entered a tiny clearing. Centaur hoof-prints were everywhere, at much more rapid a number than before. Sure enough, there sat the giant, gnarled, twisted tree trunk. The Prewett twin had stopped here. George reciprocated. The clearing was oddly still. George knew with his whole heart, mind, and soul that the Stone was near.

He began to scan the ground with a feverish speed.

Finally, something small, round, and black caught his eye beneath the frost. It was lodged in the earth; several hoof-shaped marks were imprinted directly around and atop of it. George knelt, hardly daring to believe that what he was seeing was real. He pried it from the ground, and inspected it in the palm of his shaking hand.

It was the Stone of Resurrection.

Engraved on its surface was the triangular, eye-like symbol. It was conspicuously cracked down the middle, but George could picture it on Dumbledore's finger. It had been cracked then, too, and had worked for Harry. He was positive it would work.

For a minute, George just stared at the shiny, black stone.

He was holding it. He was really, actually holding it. It seemed crazy to believe that this small Stone, this tiny instrument, could bring back Fred from the realm beyond. But he knew it could… he knew it _would_. He was scared to do anything but cradle it in the palm of its hand, scared that doing anything else might cause it to burst into flames or vanish.

"Fred…" He whispered. "I'm going to bring you back."

His hands were trembling at a terrifying rate. Regardless, he gently plucked it up with his fingers.

He turned it in the air one time…

He could barely breathe. He was joyous; he was elated! He could burst into tears! Fred was mere seconds away!

Two times…

Fred would come back and he'd be whole again! Everything would be right again! George held his breath…

Three times…

And nothing happened.


	12. The Words You Want Most Not to Say

((Sorry that this took a bit longer than planned to be posted! _And..._ please do forgive me, those of you who so wanted Fred to come back. As I said, this _all_ has been in the plan from the beginning. Forgive me; I wish he could come back, too. However, I've been trying my hardest to stay as loyal to the books and J.K. Rowling's words as possible. I'm not sure if you are aware, but in a recent Bloomsbury web chat someone asked if the Resurrection Stone was ever used again. J.K. replied, "I think not. I imagine that it was squashed into the ground by a centaur's hoof as the centaurs dashed to the aid of the Hogwarts fighters, and thereafter became buried." I'd already started this fic, so it was a little late to change it all, but as you can see, I tried my best to stick to her word. However, if you think I'm simply going to leave George hanging, if you think _Fred_ would allow that in my little fan fiction world, we'll just have to see about that…))

**Chapter Twelve**

The Words You Want Most Not to Say

George stared at the stone in his hands. He had done what Harry had told him to do. He had turned it three times. Nothing had happened.

He turned it three times, again, but faster this time.

Nothing.

Again and again he turned the Stone until he fell to his knees in anguish.

He surveyed the Stone more closely. His throat felt like it was closing up. His world was spinning, and it was all he could do to keep from keeling over onto the cold, hard ground.

He hadn't seen it before. The crack on the Stone? He had thought it was a mere surface scratch, but upon closer inspection he could see the Stone was nearly split clean in half. Only a small piece of rock that the crack had not gotten to kept the halves together. The impact from the centaurs must have finished it off.

The Stone was broken. It wasn't working. It would never work again.

It wouldn't bring his brother back.

George let out a cry of torment before throwing the Stone, as hard and as far as he could into the forest. He wanted nothing to do with it. It repulsed him. He hoped that it got swallowed up by the forest, by the ground forever.

Tears he didn't know had fallen were freezing to his cheeks. The world suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller. It was as though everything was rushing towards him all at once. He had alienated himself from his family and friends, he had ignored his responsibilities at work, and he had lost all chances with Verity… all for this. All for nothing.

Everything that he had sworn Fred would fix was left just as broken as before. He was left here, alone, cold, and hopeless.

It was as though Fred had died all over again.

In a way, he had.

The scene that George had clung to for weeks, where Fred came back, had been a lie. All his hopes, his plans… gone. His heart, his soul… they were ripping in half all over again, tearing out the stitches and seams that he had created for himself in thinking Fred would return.

He knelt there in the snow, wanting most for it to just leap up and claim him somehow, to take him away from this place. What kind of life _was _this? A life where a twin can be stolen from another, where Resurrection Stones exist but don't work, and where he just kept falling farther and farther into a black hole of isolation and mistakes?

He had thought that trying to bring back Fred would solve everything, but it had made it all worse.

And now he was left back at square one. It was his nightmare all over again, but ten times worse.

In his grief one thing came into view… the gnarled tree trunk. It was taller than he was on his knees, and the bark was old and thick. Something about it caught George's eye.

He was almost sick with himself that he could be curious at a time like this, but found himself walking over to the trunk almost robotically. Etched into the trunk, practically disguised by the lines and knots in the wood, were letters. The letters formed words which formed a sentence:

SAY THE WORDS YOU WANT MOST NOT TO SAY.

A flash of disgust led him to clench his hands into fists. George could have laughed at this twisted sentence. Was this just not too appropriate? Perhaps the heavens were content in torturing him today. The anger was enough for angry red sparks to involuntarily shoot out his wand.

Not _only_ must he relive the death of his brother in the freezing cold after a failed, heartbreaking attempt to bring him back, but he must _somehow_ be drawn to words _that remind him of it_! Written on a tree trunk in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, at that! What were the odds?!

His dreams had been planted with sick seeds of hope, only to lead to the greatest letdown of his life! Those treacherous dreams had been placed in his head by some evil force simply to lure him to his misery!

Fine! If the gods of torment wanted him to dance, he'd do it; he'd be their little puppet! But before complying, he let out a few wry chuckles that sounded wrong. Instead of laughing more, he threw his arms up to the sky.

In a choked, strangled cry, he bellowed at the top of his lungs, "MY TWIN IS DEAD! THERE! ARE YOU HAPPY?! I SAID IT! _MY TWIN IS DEAD_!"

But no spirits appeared from the sky, laughing and pointing; no demons came, their faces riddled with sneers or grins.

Instead, George watched in shock as the bark with the words began to dissolve away, to fade and disappear…

George stared in awe as, within the gnarled, old tree trunk, appeared a hollowed-out shelf in the wood. It was as though someone had cut a square out of the trunk with their wand to make a little hideaway. George peered into it.

There sat, within the rings of wood, a circular, stone bowl that glowed with faint silver. Before that was a piece of parchment. George gently scooped the paper up.

_To G, From F: May memories be enough._

A weird rush of wind blew past George. Unlike the icy gust from before, it was swirling and warm.

George suddenly began to understand.

His dreams hadn't just been random dreams- not even his most recent, most annoying ones…

He had been shown Fabian Prewett coming into the Forbidden Forest, holding in his hand something small… A corked-up bottle. George could just barely picture it, small and insignificant in Fabian's grasp, but he knew what it was, now. It was a corked-up bottle that surely must have contained a memory, or even several… for the _Pensieve_ that sat within the large trunk.

Fred and George had studied Pensieves while doing research for their Patented Daydream Charm. Something about containing memories and images from other people had seemed fitting for their product. They had gone a different route, but George still recalled what they were. They held people's memories, so that they could be viewed by the person from whom they came, or even other people.

Even more carefully than with the note, George steadily reached into the trunk and clasped the Pensieve with his hands. He sat cross-legged on the earth, despite the wet and cold, and set the bowl on level ground.

He knew what he was looking at.

He was looking at memories left behind by Fabian Prewett for Gideon, for one reason or another. _To G, from F_. It could have just as easily stood for 'To George, From Fred'.

He had been led, by his dreams, to a place where one twin had left something for the other.

He had been drawn to it by the prospect of bringing his own twin back from the dead; the only thing he had cared about.

Was this really all just a coincidence? What really _were_ the odds?

The pool of memories stirred in the breeze. George knew what he had to do.

He found himself falling into the pool of silver and smoke…

((And that's the last of the cliffhangers for this fic! I promise.))


	13. Reflections

**Chapter Thirteen**

Reflections

As soon as George's feet had left the ground to fall into the Pensieve, he found himself standing upright once more. Both the cold and the warm were gone, replaced by a neutral, still air. George glanced around. This was no dream of his, but it certainly could have been. No one was registering his existence at all, and he found it all strangely foreign. He had never been inside a memory before… George took a moment to get his bearings straight.

He was following the Prewett twins; surprise, surprise. This was Fabian's memory, after all. They were not but little boys in this memory, fit with identical, innocent faces. They were lurking, quite nervously, near the doors in the Great Hall. Crouched and hidden, they were waiting for someone.

"He's not going to come, Fabian." the boy nearest the door whispered. "It's already been fifteen minutes since we left; he should have followed by now."

"He'll come…" Fabian assured. "If not, we'll just sneak back up and talk him into it tomorrow."

The young Gideon nodded, but didn't look the least bit secured by his brother's words. He looked quite petrified, if nothing else. A few moments passed, and George could practically feel the tension radiating from each of the two brothers.

"He's not coming." Gideon quipped again. The boy Fabian rolled his eyes.

"He is, too; now be quiet."

"Don't tell me to be quiet." Gideon hissed, his mood obviously dour. But instead of retaliating, Fabian's eyes had grown wide.

"No, seriously, Gid! I hear someone coming! We don't want Pringle to catch us!"

Indeed, footsteps were echoing down the corridor. But these were not the heavy footsteps of an angry caretaker; years of experience had taught George how to judge a person simply by the sound of their steps. These steps were pattering and quick, light and cautious. Sure enough, another young boy with a mess of brown hair soon appeared at the base of the stairwell, eyes fearful and wide.

"Psst!" the twins caught his attention. He scuttled over to them, very out of breath.

"Sorry." He murmured. "Some girl had gone down to the Common Room after the two of you left- looking for her rat or something. I had to wait until she left before I could come."

"Don't worry 'bout it, Benjy," Fabian whispered.

"You're here now." Gideon nodded, although his eyes still sang of worry.

The boy named Benjy shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe Fawcett actually dared you to do this. It's so stupid…"

"Well, we're doing it." Fabian snapped. "No one calls Gideon and I cowards. Let's go out now, before Pringle makes his rounds this way."

Benjy frowned. It appeared as though he had been hoping the twins would do otherwise, and return back to the Dormitory. Instead they carefully slipped between the great doors, George following closely, out into the night.

"What if we get caught?" Benjy whimpered. They were marching towards the Forbidden Forest. "It's our first week. We'll get expelled!"

George remembered all of a sudden that Molly had told him of this. She had told him how the twins had snuck out during their first week of school on a dare- into the Forbidden Forest. George had to admit that they had guts to do that. If it were Fred and George that had been dared… well, he supposed they would have done it, too. But all they had done their first week of Hogwarts was release a few tarantulas in the Charms wing, turn Alicia Spinnet's hair a lovely shade of green, and get a house-elf to be their own, personal Laundromat.

"You're just the guy who makes sure we go through with it. Gid and I will take the rap for you, won't we?" Fabian promised. Gideon nodded. Benjy, the apparent voice of reason, wasn't giving up just yet. They had reached the border of the dark, frightening forest just outside the Hall. George couldn't help but note how very familiar that particular patch of woods was.

"Are you sure you two are going to do this? I could just tell Fawcett you did it…" Benjy gulped at the looming trees, from which a ghostly wind seemed to be coming from. "The Forest is dangerous, you know. Centaurs, werewolves- who knows what else! I'm not too thrilled to be standing out here, myself."

Gideon and Fabian turned to him.

"If we're not back-"

"In five-"

"Ten-"

"Minutes-"

"You can feel free to get Ogg."

"But we've got to go in."

"Plus, you took a Wizard's Oath to tell the truth about us remember?"

"You couldn't lie to Fawcett if you tried. Besides…"

"No one calls us cowards." They finished together, their faces grim, but steely with some level of courage.

Benjy squirmed. "Ten minutes. Now go, and _please_ hurry."

And with that, the twins entered the woods side by side. George followed. Immediately, it seemed, they were enveloped by the pitch black night. Only the small lights twinkling from their wand tips guided them through the thick, menacing brush.

"How deep do we have to go in, Fabian? Is this far enough, do you think?" Gideon spoke, his voice still hushed.

"Why are you still whispering?" Fabian uttered, although his own voice was hardly even at a normal volume. "We've got to go a bit farther. We just got in- Benjy'll tell him we simply stepped in and back out again. That's not brave at all…"

"I'm whispering because I don't want to draw attention to ourselves in a forest where werewolves and centaurs lurk, Fabian. And if we're going to go farther, we'd might as well try to look for a few landmarks to lead us back." Gideon grumbled. He pointed. "There's one. That knot if bigger than our faces!"

Sure enough, George saw the tree with the gigantic knot.

"Good idea, Gid…"

The twins were silent as they plowed through the underbrush, speaking only when they pointed out the marks in the forest that by now even George was familiar with.

"That birch's limb in down at the ground. Let's go this way a bit, now…"

"That bush is rather thick and wiry, don't you think? Does that seem like a proper landmark?"

The twins traveled a bit further. George obliged. He knew the path the young Prewetts were walking, even if they didn't just yet.

"How much time has it been, do you think?" Gideon prompted.

"I don't know. Too long…"

"Should we turn back, now?"

"Yeah, let's. But… which way is back?"

"Where'd that ruddy bush go?"

"I-I don't know. Look- maybe it's this way?"

"That's just going in deeper, not getting out!"

"I think I see a small clearing, though…"

"Fabian- what are you talking about? A clearing wasn't one of our landmarks."

"Do you hear that?"

The breeze was causing the trees to shift in an eerie manner. Somewhere in the distance, a twig snapped.

"What was it?"

"Just… come on! I don't know where else to go!"

The twins were running now, running to the familiar hollow where sat the enormous, gnarled trunk. It was nearly as tall as they were at age eleven. For some form of shelter, George supposed, they were running towards it, sitting beneath it, out of breath.

Neither spoke, but he could tell from the whites of their eyes that they were terrified. They were lost in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, and they were just mere children…

One of them spoke at last. George wasn't positive which one it was, but he could guess.

"Remember what Mum always used to tell us if we were scared to sleep when we were little? She'd tell us to say the words we wanted most not to say, and when we heard our fears out loud, they would sound silly."

The other twin managed a nervous smile. "Yeah… We'd go from being frozen with fear to laughing in stupidity within seconds. All we had to do was say, 'There's a man-eating hippogriff under my bed,' or something like that."

"Do you think it'll work now?"

"Saying the words we want most not to say?"

"Yeah."

"I'll give it a try…" the twin was shivering in the wind, but he tried to speak with courage. "I am absolutely terrified. We are lost in the Forbidden Forest-"

"Because of a stupid dare from Fawcett-"

"And we can't find our way back even though we picked out landmarks-"

"A bush, a birch, and a knot-"

"And we are now sitting in the dark underneath a huge tree stump-"

"In a hollow where centaurs and werewolves could pop out at any moment!"

The twins looked at each other, the horror still present on their faces, but they burst out laughing. Even George couldn't help but smile. Their present situation _was_ simply quite outrageous!

All of a sudden, they were silenced by crackling steps in the Forest. They froze, mouths gaping. George knew that it wasn't a werewolf or centaur, because he already knew the story. Into the clearing appeared… a leathery-toned man with a graying beard. It was Ogg, the groundskeeper of the era.

George didn't get to see what happened next, because as the twins burst out in another fit of laughter, he found the scene dissolving away.

His feet found the ground once more. This time he was in a room. It was nicely furnished, with comfy looking couches. George had a feeling that he was inside the yellow-paneled house of his first Prewett twin dream. The twins were in their teens, now, and in this memory they were… laughing. That was all. That was it.

One was lying on the couch, barely able to breathe, the other leaning against it from his seat on the floor, wiping tears from his eyes. Their laughter was loud and booming, quiet and constant; George was so reminded of the times he would laugh like this with his own twin.

He wished he knew what was so funny, but then he realized that it didn't matter. It was never the jokes that had mattered, but the act of being in a fit of hysterics itself that made laughter what it was.

Right away, it seemed, this scene was dissolving away, too.

George was watching the twins at Hogwarts. They were even older now, probably in their 7th year. Snow was upon the ground, or rather- it was flying through the air. He could pick the twins out by their matching sweaters, but they were engaged in battle with nearly a dozen others.

"Get him, Gid!"

"There is no escape for him!"

A dual assault of snowballs cascaded, hitting another boy square in the head. The twins laughed and pumped their fists in the air, before they themselves were hit from behind.

"Feel the snowy wrath of the Prewett twins!" They cheered, before turning upon their assailants.

A grin had found its place on George's face. He recalled the days at Hogwarts when he and Fred had led their own to snowy battle. The snowball fights of their days had been spectacular… Teaming up with Lee against Ron and Harry, or surprising Percy on a walk with Penelope from behind a white, icy fort… those had been the days.

Once again, the memory world was dissolving, being replaced by a dark, open space. At first George thought the colorful whirrings through the sky were none but Fillibuster's Fireworks in their early day and age, but soon came to realize that they were spells.

George had found himself in the middle of a magical battle.

He saw the twins, even more mature yet, side by side, casting spell after spell at their enemy. They were aiming spells at Antonin Dolohov. George remembered his mother's story of their escape. Reflexively, George had pulled out his wand and was ducking, even though this was a memory and he knew he couldn't be harmed.

Their faces wore identical grins as they fought side by side.

George's heart gave an unwanted lurch.

He should have been fighting beside Fred at that final battle, just as Gideon and Fabian had fought together. Instead, Fred had gone off with Percy, and George had gone to Lee. Why had they ever let themselves get separated? Maybe if they had been fighting together, things would have been different…

The scene was dissolving, leaving George with a feeling guilt and regret.

This new memory was completely different from the previous ones in that only one twin was before him.

The twin was upstairs in a bedroom, standing before a mirror. The door was shut, and he looked quite ridiculous just standing there and gazing into his reflection.

George knew that he was looking at Fabian. Before he knew it, Fabian began to speak, addressing the mirror.

"Well, Gid, you have no idea how stupid I feel. Talking to myself while you're downstairs. I know that you could be watching this as a memory. I should probably try facing some blank space in the room, so you can pretend I'm talking to you there, but it's just too weird, so I've settled with my reflection, instead. It's not too, too far off though, is it?"

Fabian paused, shaking his head in disbelief. "I must be going loopy to be doing this, but… After that last close call with the Order, I'm not going to kid myself into believing we're invincible. Not even saying the words, 'I'm afraid I'm going to die,' sounds silly anymore. So, even though you've always been the more prepared one, the more organized one, I decided that if I were to be killed, I couldn't just leave you like that. There's a good chance one of us might die, and if it's me, I just wouldn't… be able to go on without saying goodbye."

Fabian groaned. "Ugh. I feel _so stupid_. I mean, we never really talk about this kinda thing. Together, we're always laughing, always having fun. Together, everything is all right. But I've been thinking… if one of us were to leave this world, would the other be able to take it? We are twins, Gideon. We are brothers. We are two separate halves of one mind. We are two different hearts of one beating soul. I couldn't imagine living on without you here, and, if the situation were flipped, I needed to leave you with a few words.

"So… I told Molly that, if I die and you live, she was to tell you and you alone to go to our place. She had no idea what I was talking about, but I knew you would, and well, obviously, if you're watching this, you already figured it all out. I've chosen a few of my favorite memories of us- not too many, but, you know, enough to get the idea across. I'll always be alive in memories. Now, I have some instructions for you." Fabian took in a deep breath.

"I know that if you were to die, I'd probably never get over it. And I'm not expecting you to get over my death right away or fully ever, because I know that if you were to die, you'd take half of me with you, and I'd take a half away from you, if that makes sense?

"Anyway, Gideon, I just want you to know that even if I do die, I will never really leave you. I don't know what it's like, death, but I know that I would sooner become a ghost than leave you to struggle alone forever. So, that being said, I need you to know that you need to move on with your life.

"It's not possible to bring me back. Once the dead are dead, they are, well, _dead_. But… I want _you_ to try to live on as fully and as lively as possible. Live for the both of us, okay? It won't be easy, I know, because just imagining living on without you is the hardest, most impossible thing to do. But… we've had too many wonderful times together for you to let your life fall apart on my account.

"Okay. Well this is entirely too weird for me to be doing this. I'm probably speaking in circles, and sounding completely confusing. But… I know that you'll understand. I know that you'll get what I'm trying to say, here. And I guess, Gideon, that's all that matters. Remember, I will never be far from you, my twin. We can never be truly apart. Two halves of a whole, remember? Keep your memories of us alive, and I will be waiting for you in whatever world lay beyond us. And I'll stop talking to myself… now."

Fabian walked out of the room with a smile.

George could barely move. Couldn't speak. He was aware that his eyes were wet with tears, and his face was ridden with a true smile. He stood in front of the mirror in the memory just before he started to spin away, out of the Pensieve.

Although he was falling back through the world of silver and smoke, he could have sworn that for the one second he saw his smiling reflection in the mirror, it had still had both ears in tact.

* * *

((This chapter turned out to be far longer than expected. So… I'm posting the second portion of this chapter as a whole new chapter! Right away! Two for the wait of one! Enjoy…)) 


	14. Beginnings

**Chapter Fourteen**

Beginnings

George found himself once again in the Forbidden Forest clearing, bent over the Pensieve, smile and tears still in tact.

Fabian's words to Gideon still rang in his head.

It really could have been 'To George, From Fred', he knew for certain, now.

He could just picture Fred up in Heaven, or wherever he was, saying, "Took you long enough! I can be Saint-like, too, see?" Or something like that. Probably something funnier, just because Fred always had a knack of topping George's jokes.

He had been lead to Fabian's parting wishes to Gideon. Lead by mysterious dreams that George now realized had not been planted by tormenting demons, but rather _one_ restless spirit…

He had been lead by the promise of having Fred return. He had been told by Fabian's memory-self that it wasn't possible to bring the dead back. But… just like Fabian said, George still had his memories. The good and the bad and the in-between... They would remain forever.

It was nothing like bringing Fred back for real. It didn't even closely compare. But… it was enough to assure George that Fred was looking out for him. It was enough to bring the sense back to his mind.

For the past weeks George had found himself hearing the same thing from a multitude of people.

Verity: "I'm _worried_, George… We _all_ miss him, George, but it's like- it's like you're acting as though _you're_ the one dead, not him… We miss him, but we can't bring him back!"

Lee, too: "I don't think anybody expects you to ever fully get over it, you know? It's something monumental for you… You've just got to give it time, mate, and I know it's going to be tough, but you'll get used to it, you know? …You've got to get used to the fact that he's not here anymore, and you have to keep your old memories of him alive."

He had thought then that they simply didn't understand, but he knew now that they had understood even more than he had.

He had been so consumed in grief, and later so consumed in a crazy idea, to hear them.

It had taken Fabian's words to his own twin to finally get that they were right- that they, like Fred, were with him, and that he never really had been all alone at all.

It had taken all _this_, George thought of the dreams and the Stone and the Pensieve, to get him to understand.

George's heart still ached. He still felt empty without Fred beside him, in the physical realm. It would take some time to get used to it. George doubted that he ever would completely, but he would try.

He would take Verity's advice, Lee's advice, Fabian's advice, _Fred's_ advice, to heart. He would try his hardest to live for the both of them. It would never be the same, but… at least he had his own memories.

"I promise I'll try…" He whispered out loud, as he placed the Pensieve back into the stump. The bark soon reappeared, without words. All evidence of the Pensieve's hiding place was erased from all existence but memory.

Maybe he was going crazy, thinking that Fred was behind all this, but it didn't matter.

What mattered now was how on earth he was going to fix this warped life of his…

Almost answering his prayer, a light, familiar voice called out through the trees, startling him. "George! George, is that you?!"

George looked up. Through the brush appeared a huge, bulky shape. It was Hagrid, and racing ahead of him was the sprightly figure of Verity. He was tempted to applaud Fred and whoever else may be watching. But before he could do anything, Verity had reached him, surprising him with a tight hug.

"It's not quite twelve, yet, George." Hagrid grumbled, averting his eyes. "But yer friend Verity here appeared at the gate and demanded I take her to yeh. Yeh weren't too hard to track…"

"You looked _deranged_ when I saw you earlier! I was so afraid that you were about to do something completely, well… _rash_." Verity spoke. She looked quite flustered.

George got her meaning, but he found himself tempted to laugh.

_Why did everyone think I was going to off myself? _

"I finished my interview as soon as I could!" She exclaimed. "Oh, George! I'm so sorry I've been so tough on you, lately! It's just… I thought you liked me, you know, as more than a friend. And then you were off obsessing over Fred, and shirking your duties off to me, and I was past hurt and _way_ past annoyed. But… I would have never forgiven myself if the last time I saw you it was under the most awful of pretenses…"

George was astounded. He felt quite guilty. "Verity, you should not be apologizing. It's _me_ who's been the complete git, lately! You were completely, one-hundred-percent-ly right. I... I see now that I was wrong, and I hope you will forgive me for being so awful..."

Verity merely hugged him again. "I know this is a tough time for you, George. But… I'm _here_ for you. You need to open up, and I promise I'll do everything I can to help you through this."

"Well…" George smiled. He felt some of that old Fred-and-George slyness shifting back into him. "There is one thing you can do."

Verity pulled back, her eyes filled with concern. "Yes?"

"Can you please not leave the shop? Because I don't think I could handle it without you."

Verity laughed. "I don't think I ever could have left, George. Besides, I just about bombed this latest interview. I think I came off as some preoccupied freak."

"Well, lucky for you, we at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes happen to _love_ preoccupied freaks, me being the prime example of one." George felt like his old self around her, once more. "But there is one more matter of concern. This whole… 'employee dating the employer' thing…"

Verity froze, her face flushing with red. She looked greatly disappointed at his insinuated meaning."Oh! Well…"

"What are you worried for? We did hire you for your brains _and_ looks, after all. You're like the perfect package…" George grinned. He took her face in his hands and did what he should have done Christmas Eve. He kissed her. In her embrace things started to feel almost right again...

When they pulled apart, Hagrid was looking mortified.

"Not that this isn't a wonderful little party yer having, but perhaps we should get yeh outta the Forbidden Forest?" Hagrid suggested. George and Verity laughed. He even felt brave enough to wrap his arm around her shoulder as they followeed Hagrid out of the woods.

So… things weren't completely back to normal, just yet. He'd have to work out his problems with his family and friends. Fred might have been a lovely puppet master from up in Heaven, but George wasn't expecting any more miracles to come so easily. He'd have to come up with a few ideas for the shop, as well. Maybe he'd get Ron to help out-get another Weasley in the business, as his Mum had suggested…

His heart still ached, and he still wasn't feeling perfectly chipper about the world. George knew that he had a long way to go… but he was going to try. After all, this was just the beginning of his life without his twin. He had a long while to go, but he promised, silently, that he would try his best to fully live his life...

For the both of them…

* * *

Ah… the end. I'm very, very, very sad to be done with this fic so soon! But it was a nice little dip back into the realm of fanfiction. I just wanted to thank you, my readers and reviewers, for sticking through this one with me! You have made it the best of all my stories, here! I hope the ending wasn't too, too cheesy. I just couldn't bring myself to leave George too unsettled, you know? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for making this a wonderful experience. A special thanks to those reviewers who managed to comment on nearly every chapter- you know who you are! I don't know what I would have done without you guys! 

Oh- and I may just start a new story sooner or later that involves Fred's part in this (thanks for the inspiration, **tanpopo no hana**), but we'll just have to see. Keep your eyes open! So… this is it, I guess. Once again, hope this story satisfied a bit of your fanfiction hunger. The best of luck to all you other writers out there! You are all amazing beyond words! **–Kelsey))**


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